University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
ROBERT  B.  HONEYMAN,  JR. 


Ctfio> 


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same  8ttt(jor. 


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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO.,  Publishers. 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


A   SAPPHO   OF   GREEN   SPRINGS 
AND   OTHER  STORIES 


BY 

BRET    HARTE 


BOSTON    AND    NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLTN   AND   COMPANY 
fttoeraibe  $re*s,  CambriD0e 
1891 


Copyright,  1891, 
BY  BRET  HARTE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotype*  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS        .        .  1 

THE  CHATELAINE  OF  BURNT  RIDGE  ...        81 
THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT    .        .        .131 

A   MAECENAS   OF   THE    PACIFIC  SLOPE    .  .  .         228 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  COME  in,"  said  the  editor. 

The  door  of  the  editorial  room  of  the 
"  Excelsior  Magazine  "  began  to  creak  pain- 
fully under  the  hesitating  pressure  of  an  un- 
certain and  unfamiliar  hand.  This  continued 
until  with  a  start  of  irritation  the  editor 
faced  directly  about,  throwing  his  leg  over 
the  arm  of  his  chair  with  a  certain  youthful 
dexterity.  With  one  hand  gripping  its  back, 
the  other  still  grasping  a  proof-slip,  and  his 
pencil  in  his  mouth,  he  stared  at  the  intruder. 

The  stranger,  despite  his  hesitating  en- 
trance, did  not  seem  in  the  least  discon- 
certed. He  was  a  tall  man,  looking  even 
taller  by  reason  of  the  long  formless  over- 
coat he  wore,  known  as  a  "  duster,"  and  by 
a  long  straight  beard  that  depended  from 
his  chin,  which  he  combed  with  two  reflec- 
tive fingers  as  he  contemplated  the  editor. 
The  red  dust  which  still  lay  in  the  creases  of 


2  A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

his  garment  and  in  the  curves  of  his  soft  felt 
hat,  and  left  a  dusty  circle  like  a  precipi- 
tated halo  around  his  feet,  proclaimed  him, 
if  not  a  countryman,  a  recent  inland  impor- 
tation by  coach.  "  Busy  ?  "  he  said,  in  a 
grave  but  pleasant  voice.  "  I  kin  wait. 
Don't  mind  me.  Go  on." 

The  editor  indicated  a  chair  with  his  dis- 
engaged hand  and  plunged  again  into  his 
proof-slips.  The  stranger  surveyed  the  scant 
furniture  and  appointments  of  the  office  with 
a  look  of  grave  curiosity,  and  then,  taking  a 
chair,  fixed  an  earnest,  penetrating  gaze  on 
the  editor's  profile.  The  editor  felt  it,  and, 
without  looking  up,  said :  — 

"  Well,  go  on." 

"  But  you  're  busy.     I  kin  wait." 

"  I  shall  not  be  less  busy  this  morning.  1 
can  listen." 

"  I  want  you  to  give  me  the  name  of  a 
certain  person  who  writes  in  your  magazine." 

The  editor's  eye  glanced  at  the  second 
right-hand  drawer  of  his  desk.  It  did  not 
contain  the  names  of  his  contributors,  but 
what  in  the  traditions  of  his  office  was  ac- 
cepted as  an  equivalent,  —  a  revolver.  He 
had  never  yet  presented  either  to  an  inquirer. 
But  he  laid  aside  his  proofs,  and,  with  a 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.  3 

slight  darkening  of  his  youthful,  discontented 
face,  said,  "What  do  you  want  to  know 
for?" 

The  question  was  so  evidently  unexpected 
that  the  stranger's  face  colored  slightly,  and 
he  hesitated.  The  editor  meanwhile,  without 
taking  his  eyes  from  the  man,  mentally  ran 
over  the  contents  of  the  last  magazine.  They 
had  been  of  a  singularly  peaceful  character. 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  justify  hom- 
icide on  his  part  or  the  stranger's.  Yet  there 
was  no  knowing,  and  his  questioner's  bucolic 
appearance  by  no  means  precluded  an  as- 
sault. Indeed,  it  had  been  a  legend  of  the 
office  that  a  predecessor  had  suffered  vica- 
riously from  a  geological  hammer  covertly 
introduced  into  a  scientific  controversy  by  an 
irate  professor. 

"As  we  make  ourselves  responsible  for 
the  conduct  of  the  magazine,"  continued  the 
young  editor,  with  mature  severity,  "  we  do 
not  give  up  the  names  of  our  contributors. 
If  you  do  not  agree  with  their  opinions  "  — 

"  But  I  c?o,"  said  the  stranger,  with  his 
former  composure,  "  and  I  reckon  that 's  why 
I  want  to  know  who  wrote  those  verses  called 
4 Underbrush,'  signed  'White  Violet,'  in 
your  last  number.  They  're  pow'ful  pretty." 


4  A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

The  editor  flushed  slightly,  and  glanced 
instinctively  around  for  any  unexpected  wit- 
ness of  his  ludicrous  mistake.  The  fear  of 
ridicule  was  uppermost  in  his  mind,  and  he 
was  more  relieved  at  his  mistake  not  being 
overheard  than  at  its  groundlessness. 

"  The  verses  are  pretty,"  he  said,  recover- 
ing himself,  with  a  critical  air,  "  and  I  am 
glad  you  like  them.  But  even  then,  you 
know,  I  could  not  give  you  the  lady's  name 
without  her  permission.  I  will  write  to  her 
and  ask  it,  if  you  like." 

The  actual  fact  was  that  the  verses  had 
been  sent  to  him  anonymously  from  a  remote 
village  in  the  Coast  Range,  —  the  address 
being  the  post-office  and  the  signature  in- 
itials. 

The  stranger  looked  disturbed.  "Then 
she  ain't  about  here  anywhere  ?  "  he  said, 
with  a  vague  gesture.  "  She  don't  belong  to 
the  office  ?  " 

The  young  editor  beamed  with  tolerant 
superiority  :  «  No,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  got  to  see  her  and 
kinder  asked  her  a  few  questions,"  continued 
the  stranger,  with  the  same  reflective  seri- 
ousness. «  You  see,  it  was  n't  just  the  rhym- 
in'  o'  them  verses,  —  and  they  kinder  sing 


A  SAPPHO   OF   GREEN  SPRINGS.  5 

themselves  to  ye,  don't  they  ?  —  it  was  n't 
the  chyce  o'  words,  —  and  I  reckon  they  allus 
hit  the  idee  in  the  centre  shot  every  time,  — 
it  was  n't  the  idees  and  moral  she  sort  o' 
drew  out  o'  what  she  was  tellin',  —  but  it 
was  the  straight  thing  itself,  —  the  truth !  " 

"The  truth?"  repeated  the  editor. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  've  bin  there.  I  've  seen  all 
that  she's  seen  in  the  brush  —  the  little 
flicks  and  checkers  o'  light  and  shadder 
down  in  the  brown  dust  that  you  wonder  how 
it  ever  got  through  the  dark  of  the  woods, 
and  that  allus  seems  to  slip  away  like  a 
snake  or  a  lizard  if  you  grope.  I  've  heard 
all  that  she 's  heard  there  —  the  creepin', 
the  sighin',  and  the  whisperin'  through  the 
bracken  and  the  ground-vines  of  all  that 
lives  there." 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  poet  yourself,"  said  the 
editor,  with  a  patronizing  smile. 

"  I  'm  a  lumberman,  up  in  Mendocino," 
returned  the  stranger,  with  sublime  naivete. 
"  Got  a  mill  there.  You  see,  sightin'  standin' 
timber  and  selectin'  from  the  gen'ral  show  of 
the  trees  in  the  ground  and  the  lay  of  roots 
hez  sorter  made  me  take  notice."  He  paused. 
"  Then,"  he  added,  somewhat  despondingly, 
"  you  don't  know  who  she  is  ?  " 


6     A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

"  No,"  said  the  editor,  reflectively ;  "  not 
even  if  it  is  really  a  woman  who  writes." 

"Eh?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  '  White  Violet '  may  as 
well  be  the  nom  de  plume  of  a  man  as  of  a 
woman,  especially  if  adopted  for  the  pur- 
pose of  mystification.  The  handwriting,  I 
remember,  was  more  boyish  than  feminine." 

"  No,"  returned  the  stranger  doggedly,  "  it 
was  n't  no  man.  There  's  ideas  and  words 
there  that  only  come  from  a  woman  :  baby- 
talk  to  the  birds,  you  know,  and  a  kind  of 
fearsome  keer  of  bugs  and  creepin'  things 
that  don't  come  to  a  man  who  wears  boots 
and  trousers.  Well,"  he  added,  with  a  re- 
turn to  his  previous  air  of  resigned  disap- 
pointment, "  I  suppose  you  don't  even  know 
what  she's  like?"  , 

"  No,"  responded  the  editor,  cheerfully. 
Then,  following  an  idea  suggested  by  the 
odd  mingling  of  sentiment  and  shrewd  per- 
ception in  the  man  before  him,  he  added : 
"  Probably  not  at  all  like  anything  you  im- 
agine. She  may  be  a  mother  with  three  or 
four  children ;  or  an  old  maid  who  keeps  a 
boarding-house;  or  a  wrinkled  school-mis- 
tress ;  or  a  chit  of  a  school-girl.  I  Ve  had 
some  fair  verses  from  a  red-haired  girl  of 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.  7 

fourteen  at  the  Seminary,"  he  concluded 
with  professional  coolness. 

The  stranger  regarded  him  with  the  naive 
wonder  of  an  inexperienced  man.  Having 
paid  this  tribute  to  his  superior  knowledge, 
he  regained  his  previous  air  of  grave  percep- 
tion. "  I  reckon  she  ain't  none  of  them. 
But  I  'm  keepin'  you  from  your  work.  Good- 
by.  My  name's  Bowers — Jim  Bowers,  of 
Mendocino.  If  you  're  up  my  way,  give  me 
a  call.  And  if  you  do  write  to  this  yer 
4  White  Violet,'  and  she 's  willin',  send  me 
her  address." 

He  shook  the  editor's  hand  warmly  — 
even  in  its  literal  significance  of  imparting  a 
good  deal  of  his  own  earnest  caloric  to  the 
editor's  fingers  —  and  left  the  room.  His 
footfall  echoed  along  the  passage  and  died 
out,  and  with  it,  I  fear,  all  impression  of  his 
visit  from  the  editor's  mind,  as  he  plunged 
again  into  the  silent  task  before  him. 

Presently  he  was  conscious  of  a  melodious 
humming  and  a  light  leisurely  step  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  hall.  They  continued  on  in  an 
easy  harmony  and  unaffected  as  the  passage 
of  a  bird.  Both  were  pleasant  and  both  fa- 
miliar to  the  editor.  They  belonged  to  Jack 
Hamlin,  by  vocation  a  gambler,  by  taste  a 


8     A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

musician,  on  his  way  from  his  apartments  on 
the  upper  floor,  where  he  had  just  risen,  to 
drop  into  his  friend's  editorial  room  and 
glance  over  the  exchanges,  as  was  his  habit 
before  breakfast. 

The  door  opened  lightly.  The  editor  was 
conscious  of  a  faint  odor  of  scented  soap,  a 
sensation  of  freshness  and  cleanliness,  the 
impression  of  a  soft  hand  like  a  woman's 
on  his  shoulder  and,  like  a  woman's,  mo- 
mentarily and  playfully  caressing,  the  pas- 
sage of  a  graceful  shadow  across  his  desk, 
and  the  next  moment  Jack  Hamlin  was  os- 
tentatiously dusting  a  chair  with  an  open 
newspaper  preparatory  to  sitting  down. 

"  You  ought  to  ship  that  office-boy  of 
yours,  if  he  can't  keep  things  cleaner,"  he 
said,  suspending  his  melody  to  eye  grimly 
the  dust  which  Mr.  Bowers  had  shaken  from 
his  departing  feet. 

The  editor  did  not  look  up  until  he  had 
finished  revising  a  difficult  paragraph.  By 
that  time  Mr.  Hamlin  had  comfortably  set- 
tled himself  on  a  cane  sofa,  and,  possibly  out 
of  deference  to  his  surroundings,  had  sub- 
dued his  song  to  a  peculiarly  low,  soft,  and 
heart-breaking  whistle  as  he  unfolded  a  news- 
paper. Clean  and  faultless  in  his  appear- 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.  9 

ance,  he  had  the  rare  gift  of  being  able  to 
get  up  at  two  in  the  afternoon  with  much  of 
the  dewy  freshness  and  all  of  the  moral 
superiority  of  an  early  riser. 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  here  just  now, 
Jack,"  said  the  editor. 

"  Not  a  row,  old  man,  eh  ?  "  inquired 
Jack,  with  a  faint  accession  of  interest. 

"  No,"  said  the  editor,  smiling.  Then  he 
related  the  incidents  of  the  previous  inter- 
view, with  a  certain  humorous  exaggeration 
which  was  part  of  his  nature.  But  Jack 
did  not  smile. 

"  You  ought  to  have  booted  him  out  of 
the  ranch  on  sight,"  he  said.  "  What  right 
had  he  to  come  here  prying  into  a  lady's  af- 
fairs ?  —  at  least  a  lady  as  far  as  he  knows. 
Of  course  she  's  some  old  blowzy  with  frum- 
pled  hair  trying  to  rope  in  a  greenhorn  with 
a  string  of  words  and  phrases,"  concluded 
Jack,  carelessly,  who  had  an  equally  cynical 
distrust  of  the  sex  and  of  literature. 

"  That 's  about  what  I  told  him,"  said  the 
editor. 

"  That 's  just  what  you  should  n't  have 
told  him,"  returned  Jack.  "  You  ought  to 
have  stuck  up  for  that  woman  as  if  she  'd 
been  your  own  mother.  Lord  !  you  fellows 


10          A  tiAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

don't  know  how  to  run  a  magazine.  You 
ought  to  let  me  sit  on  that  chair  and  tackle 
your  customers." 

"  What  would  you  have  done,  Jack  ?  " 
asked  the  editor,  much  amused  to  find  that 
his  hitherto  invincible  hero  was  not  above 
the  ordinary  human  weakness  of  offering  ad- 
vice as  to  editorial  conduct. 

44  Done  ?  "  reflected  Jack.  "  Well,  first, 
sonny,  I  shouldn't  keep  a  revolver  in  a 
drawer  that  I  had  to  open  to  get  at." 

"  But  what  would  you  have  said  ?  " 

44 1  should  simply  have  asked  him  what 
was  the  price  of  lumber  at  Mendocino,"  said 
Jack,  sweetly,  "  and  when  he  told  me,  I 
should  have  said  that  the  samples  he  was 
offering  out  of  his  own  head  would  n't  suit. 
You  see,  you  don't  want  any  trifling  in  such 
matters.  You  write  well  enough,  my  boy," 
continued  he,  turning  over  his  paper,  "  but 
what  you  're  lacking  in  is  editorial  dignity. 
But  go  on  with  your  work.  Don't  mind 
me." 

Thus  admonished,  the  editor  again  bent 
over  his  desk,  and  his  friend  softly  took  up 
his  suspended  song.  The  editor  had  not 
proceeded  far  in  his  corrections  when  Jack's 
voice  again  broke  the  silence. 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS  .        11 

"Where  are  those  d — d  verses,  anyway?" 

Without  looking  up,  the  editor  waved  his 
pencil  towards  an  uncut  copy  of  the  "  Excel- 
sior Magazine  "  lying  on  the  table. 

"  You  don't  suppose  I  'm  going  to  read 
them,  do  you  ? "  said  Jack,  aggrievedly. 
"  Why  don't  you  say  what  they  're  about  ? 
That 's  your  business  as  editor." 

But  that  functionary,  now  wholly  lost  and 
wandering  in  the  noj^sequitur  of  an  involved 
passage  in  the  proof  before  him,  only  waved 
an  impatient  remonstrance  with  his  pencil 
and  knit  his  brows.  Jack,  with  a  sigh,  took 
up  the  magazine. 

A  long  silence  followed,  broken  only  by 
the  hurried  rustling  of  sheets  of  copy  and  an 
occasional  exasperated  start  from  the  editor. 
The  sun  was  already  beginning  to  slant  a 
dusty  beam  across  his  desk ;  Jack's  whistling 
had  long  since  ceased.  Presently,  with  an 
exclamation  of  relief,  the  editor  laid  aside 
the  last  proof-sheet  and  looked  up. 

Jack  Hamlin  had  closed  the  magazine,  but 
with  one  hand  thrown  over  the  back  of  the 
sofa  he  was  still  holding  it,  his  slim  fore- 
finger between  its  leaves  to  keep  the  place, 
and  his  handsome  profile  and  dark  lashes 
lifted  towards  the  window.  The  editor, 


12          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN    SPRINGS. 

smiling  at  this  unwonted  abstraction,  said, 
quietly,  — 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  them  ?  " 

Jack  rose,  laid  the  magazine  down,  settled 
his  white  waistcoat  with  both  hands,  and 
lounged  towards  his  friend  with  audacious 
but  slightly  veiled  and  shining  eyes.  u  They 
sort  of  sing  themselves  to  you,"  he  said, 
quietly,  leaning  beside  the  editor's  desk,  and 
looking  down  upon  him.  After  a  pause  he 
said,  "Then  you  don't  know  what  she's 
like?" 

"  That 's  what  Mr.  Bowers  asked  me,"  re- 
marked the  editor. 

"D— -n  Bowers!" 

"  I  suppose  you  also  wish  me  to  write  and 
ask  for  permission  to  give  you  her  address  ?  " 
said  the  editor,  with  great  gravity. 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  coolly.  "  I  propose  to 
give  it  to  you  within  a  week,  and  you  will 
pay  me  with  a  breakfast.  I  should  like  to 
have  it  said  that  I  was  once  a  paid  contrib- 
utor to  literature.  If  I  don't  give  it  to  you, 
I  '11  stand  you  a  dinner,  that 's  all." 

"  Done  !  "  said  the  editor.  "  And  you 
know  nothing  of  her  now  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  promptly.    "  Nor  you  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  I  have  told  you." 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.          13 

"That'll  do.  So  long!"  And  Jack, 
carefully  adjusting  his  glossy  hat  over  his 
curls  at  an  ominously  wicked  angle,  saun- 
tered lightly  from  the  room.  The  editor, 
glancing  after  his  handsome  figure  and  hear- 
ing him  take  up  his  pretermitted  whistle  as 
he  passed  out,  began  to  think  that  the  con- 
tingent dinner  was  by  no  means  an  inevit- 
able prospect. 

Howbeit,  he  plunged  once  more  into  his 
monotonous  duties.  But  the  freshness  of 
the  day  seemed  to  have  departed  with  Jack, 
and  the  later  interruptions  of  foreman  and 
publisher  were  of  a  more  practical  character. 
It  was  not  until  the  post  arrived  that  the 
superscription  on  one  of  the  letters  caught 
his  eye,  and  revived  his  former  interest.  It 
was  the  same  hand  as  that  of  his  unknown 
contributor's  manuscript  —  ill-formed  and 
boyish.  He  opened  the  envelope.  It  con- 
tained another  poem  with  the  same  signa- 
ture, but  also  a  note  —  much  longer  than  the 
brief  lines  that  accompanied  the  first  con- 
tribution—  was  scrawled  upon  a  separate 
piece  of  paper.  This  the  editor  opened  first, 
and  read  the  following,  with  an  amazement 
that  for  the  moment  dominated  all  other 
sense :  — 


14         A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

MR.  EDITOR,  —  I  see  you  have  got  my 
poetry  in.  But  I  don't  see  the  spondulix 
that  oughter  follow.  Perhaps  you  don't 
know  where  to  send  it.  Then  I  '11  tell  you. 
Send  the  money  to  Lock  Box  47,  Green 
Springs  P.  O.,  per  Wells  Fargo's  Express, 
and  I  '11  get  it  there,  on  account  of  my  par- 
ents not  knowing.  We  're  very  high-toned, 
and  they  would  think  it 's  low  making  poetry 
for  papers.  Send  amount  usually  paid  for 
poetry  in  your  papers.  Or  may  be  you  think 
I  make  poetry  for  nothing  ?  That 's  where 
you  slip  up ! 

Yours  truly,         WHITE  VIOLET. 

P.  S.  —  If  you  don't  pay  for  poetry,  send 
this  back.  It 's  as  good  as  what  you  did 
put  in,  and  is  just  as  hard  to  make.  You 
hear  me  ?  that 's  me  —  all  the  time. 

WHITE  VIOLET. 

The  editor  turned  quickly  to  the  new  con- 
tribution for  some  corroboration  of  what  he 
felt  must  be  an  extraordinary  blunder.  But 
no !  The  few  lines  that  he  hurriedly  read 
breathed  the  same  atmosphere  of  intellectual 
repose,  gentleness,  and  imagination  as  the 
first  contribution.  And  yet  they  were  in 
the  same  handwriting  as  the  singular  mis- 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.          15 

sive,  and  both  were  identical  with  the  previ- 
ous manuscript. 

Had  he  been  the  victim  of  a  hoax,  and 
were  the  verses  not  original?  No;  they 
were  distinctly  original,  local  in  color,  and 
even  local  in  the  use  of  certain  old  English 
words  that  were  common  in  the  Southwest. 
He  had  before  noticed  the  apparent  incon- 
gruity of  the  handwriting  and  the  text,  and 
it  was  possible  that  for  the  purposes  of  dis- 
guise the  poet  might  have  employed  an 
amanuensis.  But  how  could  he  reconcile 
the  incongruity  of  the  mercenary  and  slangy 
purport  of  the  missive  itself  with  the  mental 
habit  of  its  author  ?  Was  it  possible  that 
these  inconsistent  qualities  existed  in  the 
one  individual?  He  smiled  grimly  as  he 
thought  of  his  visitor  Bowers  and  his  friend 
Jack.  He  was  startled  as  he  remembered 
the  purely  imaginative  picture  he  had  him- 
self given  to  the  seriously  interested  Bowers 
of  the  possible  incongruous  personality  of 
the  poetess. 

Was  he  quite  fair  in  keeping  this  from 
Jack  ?  Was  it  really  honorable,  in  view  of 
their  wager  ?  It  is  to  be  feared  that  a  very 
human  enjoyment  of  Jack's  possible  dis- 
comfiture quite  as  much  as  any  chivalrous 


16          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

friendship  impelled  the  editor  to  ring  event- 
ually for  the  office-boy. 

"  See  if  Mr.  Hamlin  is  in  his  rooms." 
The  editor  then  sat  down,  and  wrote  rap- 
idly as  follows :  — 

DEAE  MADAM,  —  You  are  as  right  as 
you  are  generous  in  supposing  that  only 
ignorance  of  your  address  prevented  the 
manager  from  previously  remitting  the  hon- 
orarium for  your  beautiful  verses.  He  now 
begs  to  send  it  to  you  in  the  manner  you 
have  indicated.  As  the  verses  have  attracted 
deserved  attention,  I  have  been  applied  to 
for  your  address.  Should  you  care  to  sub- 
mit it  to  me  to  be  used  at  my  discretion,  I 
shall  feel  honored  by  your  confidence.  But 
this  is  a  matter  left  entirely  to  your  own 
kindness  and  better  judgment.  Meantime,  I 
take  pleasure  in  accepting  "  White  Violet's  " 
present  contribution,  and  remain,  dear  mad- 
am, your  obedient  servant, 

THE  EDITOR. 

The  boy  returned  as  he  was  folding  the 
letter.  Mr.  Hamlin  was  not  only  not  in  his 
rooms,  but,  according  to  his  negro  servant 
Pete,  had  left  town  an  hour  ago  for  a  few 
days  in  the  country. 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.          17 

"Did  he  say  where?"  asked  the  editor, 
quickly. 

"  No,  sir :  he  did  n't  know." 

"  Very  well.  Take  this  to  the  manager." 
He  addressed  the  letter,  and,  scrawling  a  few 
hieroglyphics  on  a  memorandum-tag,  tore  it 
off,  and  handed  it  with  the  letter  to  the  boy. 

An  hour  later  he  stood  in  the  manager's 
office.  "The  next  number  is  pretty  well 
made  up,"  he  said,  carelessly,  "  and  I  think 
of  taking  a  day  or  two  off." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  manager.  "  It  will 
do  you  good.  Where  do  you  think  you  Jll 
go?" 

"  I  have  n't  quite  made  up  my  mind," 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  HULLO  !  "  said  Jack  Hamlin. 

He  had  halted  his  mare  at  the  edge  of  an 
abrupt  chasm.  It  did  not  appear  to  be  fifty 
feet  across,  yet  its  depth  must  have  been 
nearly  two  hundred  to  where  the  hidden 
mountain-stream,  of  which  it  was  the  banks, 
alternately  slipped,  tumbled,  and  fell  with 
murmuring  and  monotonous  regularity.  One 
or  two  pine-trees  growing  on  the  opposite 
edge,  loosened  at  the  roots,  had  tilted  their 
straight  shafts  like  spears  over  the  abyss,  and 
the  top  of  one,  resting  on  the  upper  branches 
of  a  sycamore  a  few  yards  from  him,  served 
as  an  aerial  bridge  for  the  passage  of  a  boy 
of  fourteen  to  whom  Mr.  Hamlin's  challenge 
was  addressed. 

The  boy  stopped  midway  in  his  perilous 
transit,  and,  looking  down  upon  the  horse- 
man, responded,  coolly,  "  Hullo,  yourself !  " 

"  Is  that  the  only  way  across  this  infernal 
hole,  or  the  one  you  prefer  for  exercise  ?  " 
continued  Hamlin,  gravely. 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPKJNGS.     19 

The  boy  sat  down  on  a  bough,  allowing 
his  bare  feet  to  dangle  over  the  dizzy  depths, 
and  critically  examined  his  questioner.  Jack 
had  on  this  occasion  modified  his  usual  cor- 
rect conventional  attire  by  a  tasteful  com- 
bination of  a  vaquero's  costume,  and,  in 
loose  white  bullion-fringed  trousers,  red  sash, 
jacket,  and  sombrero,  looked  infinitely  more 
dashing  and  picturesque  than  his  original. 
Nevertheless,  the  boy  did  not  reply.  Mr. 
Hamlin's  pride  in  his  usual  ascendency  over 
women,  children,  horses,  and  all  unreasoning 
animals  was  deeply  nettled.  He  smiled, 
however,  and  said,  quietly,  — 

"  Come  here,  George  Washington.  I 
want  to  talk  to  you." 

Without  rejecting  this  august  yet  impos- 
sible title,  the  boy  presently  lifted  his  feet, 
and  carelessly  resumed  his  passage  across 
the  chasm  until,  reaching  the  sycamore,  he 
began  to  let  himself  down  squirrel-wise,  leap 
by  leap,  with  an  occasional  trapeze  swinging 
from  bough  to  bough,  dropping  at  last  eas- 
ily to  the  ground.  Here  he  appeared  to  be 
rather  good-looking,  albeit  the  sun  and  air 
had  worked  a  miracle  of  brown  tan  and 
freckles  on  his  exposed  surfaces,  until  the 
mottling  of  his  oval  cheeks  looked  like  a 


20          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

polished  bird's  egg.  Indeed,  it  struck  Mr. 
Hamlin  that  he  was  as  intensely  a  part  of 
that  sylvan  seclusion  as  the  hidden  brook 
that  murmured,  the  brown  velvet  shadows 
that  lay  like  trappings  on  the  white  flanks 
of  his  horse,  the  quivering  heat,  and  the 
stinging  spice  of  bay.  Mr.  Hamlin  had 
vague  ideas  of  dryads  and  fauns,  but  at  that 
moment  would  have  bet  something  on  the 
chances  of  their  survival. 

"  I  did  not  hear  what  you  said  just  now, 
general,"  he  remarked,  with  great  elegance 
of  manner,  "  but  I  know  from  your  reputa- 
tion that  it  could  not  be  a  lie.  I  therefore 
gather  that  there  is  another  way  across." 

The  boy  smiled;  rather,  his  very  short 
upper  lip  apparently  vanished  completely 
over  his  white  teeth,  and  his  very  black 
eyes,  which  showed  a  great  deal  of  the  white 
around  them,  danced  in  their  orbits. 

*'  But  you  could  n't  find  it,"  he  said,  slyly. 

"  No  more  could  you  find  the  half-dollar  I 
dropped  just  now,  unless  I  helped  you." 

Mr.  Hamlin,  by  way  of  illustration,  leaned 
deeply  over  his  left  stirrup,  and  pointed  to 
the  ground.  At  the  same  moment  a  bright 
half-dollar  absolutely  appeared  to  glitter  in 
the  herbage  at  the  point  of  his  finger.  It 


A  SAPPHO   OF   GREEN  SPRfNGS.        21 

was  a  trick  that  had  always  brought  great 
pleasure  and  profit  to  his  young  friends,  and 
some  loss  and  discomfiture  of  wager  to  his 
older  ones. 

The  boy  picked  up  the  coin :  "  There  's  a 
dip  and  a  level  crossing  about  a  mile  over 
yer,"  —  he  pointed,  —  "  but  it 's  through  the 
woods,  and  they  're  that  high  with  thick 
bresh." 

"With  what?" 

" Bresh,"  repeated  the  boy;  "that?  — 
pointing  to  a  few  fronds  of  bracken  growing 
in  the  shadow  of  the  sycamore. 

"Oh!  underbrush?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  said  '  bresh,'  "  returned  the  boy, 
doggedly.  "  You  might  get  through,  ef  you 
war  spry,  but  not  your  hoss.  Where  do  you 
want  to  go,  anyway?" 

"  Do  you  know,  George,"  said  Mr.  Ham- 
lin,  lazily  throwing  his  right  leg  over  the 
horn  of  his  saddle  for  greater  ease  and  de- 
liberation in  replying,  "it 's  very  odd,  but 
that  's  just  what  / ' d  like  to  know.  Now, 
what  would  you,  in  your  broad  statesmanlike 
views  of  things  generally,  advise  ?  " 

Quite  convinced  of  the  stranger's  mental 
unsoundness,  the  boy  glanced  again  at  his 
half-dollar,  as  if  to  make  sure  of  its  integ- 


22    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

rity,  pocketed  it  doubtfully,  and  turned 
away. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  said  Hamlin, 
resuming  his  seat  with  the  agility  of  a  circus- 
rider,  and  spurring  forward. 

"  To  Green  Springs,  where  I  live,  two 
miles  over  the  ridge  on  the  far  slope,"  — 
indicating  the  direction. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Jack,  with  thoughtful  grav- 
ity. "  Well,  kindly  give  my  love  to  your 
sister,  will  you  ?  " 

"  George  Washington  did  n't  have  no  sis- 
ter," said  the  boy,  cunningly. 

"Can  I  have  been  mistaken?"  said  Ham- 
lin, lifting  his  hand  to  his  forehead  with 
grieved  accents.  "  Then  it  seems  you  have. 
Kindly  give  her  my  love." 

"Which  one?"  asked  the  boy,  with  a 
swift  glance  o,f  mischief.  "  I  've  got  four." 

"  The  one  that 's  like  you,"  returned  Ham- 
lin, with  prompt  exactitude.  "  Now,  where 's 
the  « bresh '  you  spoke  of  ?  " 

"  Keep  along  the  edge  until  you  come  to 
the  log-slide.  Toiler  that,  and  it  '11  lead  you 
into  the  woods.  But  ye  won't  go  far,  I  tell 
ye.  When  you  have  to  turn  back,  instead 
o'  comin'  back  here,  you  kin  take  the  trail 
that  goes  round  the  woods,  and  that  '11  bring 


A  SAPPHO   OF   GREEN  SPRINGS.          23 

ye  out  into  the  stage  road  ag'in  near  the  post- 
office  at  the  Green  Springs  crossin'  and  the 
new  hotel.  That  '11  be  war  ye  '11  turn  up,  I 
reckon,"  he  added,  reflectively.  "Fellers 
that  come  yer  gunnin'  and  fishin'  gin'rally 
do,"  he  concluded,  with  a  half -inquisitive 
air. 

"  Ah  ?  "  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  quietly  shedding 
the  inquiry.  "  Green  Springs  Hotel  is  where 
the  stage  stops,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  at  the  post-office,"  said  the  boy. 
"  She  '11  be  along  here  soon,"  he  added. 

"  If  you  mean  the  Santa  Cruz  stage,"  said 
Hamlin,  "  she  's  here  already.  I  passed  her 
on  the  ridge  half  an  hour  ago." 

The  boy  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  a  quick 
uneasy  expression  passed  over  his  face.  "  Go 
'long  with  ye !  "  he  said,  with  a  forced  smile  : 
"  it  ain't  her  time  yet." 

"  But  I  saw  her,"  repeated  Hamlin,  much 
amused.  "Are  you  expecting  company? 
Hullo !  Where  are  you  off  to  ?  Come 
back." 

But  his  companion  had  already  vanished 
in  the  thicket  with  the  undeliberate  and  im- 
pulsive act  of  an  animal.  There  was  a  mo- 
mentary rustle  in  the  alders  fifty  feet  away, 
and  then  all  was  silent.  The  hidden  brook 


24          A  SAPPHO   OF   GREEN  SPRINGS. 

took  up  its  monotonous  murmur,  the  tapping 
of  a  distant  woodpecker  became  suddenly 
audible,  and  Mr.  Hamlin  was  again  alone. 

"  Wonder  whether  he  's  got  parents  in  the 
stage,  and  has  been  playing  truant  here,"  he 
mused,  lazily.  "  Looked  as  if  he  'd  been 
up  to  some  devilment,  or  more  like  as  if  he 
was  primed  for  it.  If  he'd  been  a  little 
older,  I  'd  have  bet  he  was  in  league  with 
some  road-agents  to  watch  the  coach.  Just 
my  luck  to  have  him  light  out  as  I  was  be- 
ginning to  get  some  talk  out  of  him."  He 
paused,  looked  at  his  watch,  and  straight- 
ened himself  in  his  stirrups.  "  Four  o'clock. 
I  reckon  I  might  as  well  try  the  woods  and 
what  that  imp  calls  the  4  bresh ; '  I  may 
strike  a  shanty  or  a  native  by  the  way." 

With  this  determination,  Mr.  Hamlin 
urged  his  horse  along  the  faint  trail  by  the 
brink  of  the  watercourse  which  the  boy  had 
just  indicated.  He  had  no  definite  end  in 
view  beyond  the  one  that  had  brought  him 
the  day  before  to  that  locality  —  his  quest 
of  the  unknown  poetess.  His  clue  would 
have  seemed  to  ordinary  humanity  the  faint- 
est. He  had  merely  noted  the  provincial 
name  of  a  certain  plant  mentioned  in  the 
poem,  and  learned  that  its  habitat  was  lim- 


A  SAPPHO   OF   GREEN  SPRINGS.          25 

ited  to  the  southern  local  range  ;  while  its 
peculiar  nomenclature  was  clearly  of  French 
Creole  or  Gulf  State  origin.  This  gave  him 
a  large  though  sparsely-populated  area  for 
locality,  while  it  suggested  a  settlement  of 
Louisianians  or  Mississippians  near  the 
Summit,  of  whom,  through  their  native 
gambling  proclivities,  he  was  professionally 
cognizant.  But  he  mainly  trusted  Fortune. 
Secure  in  his  faith  in  the  feminine  character 
of  that  goddess,  he  relied  a  great  deal  on 
her  well-known  weakness  for  scamps  of  his 
quality. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  came  to  the 
"  slide  "  —  a  lightly-cut  or  shallow  ditch.  It 
descended  slightly  in  a  course  that  was  far 
from  straight,  at  times  diverging  to  avoid  the 
obstacles  of  trees  or  boulders,  at  times  shav- 
ing them  so  closely  as  to  leave  smooth  abra- 
sions along  their  sides  made  by  the  grinding 
passage  of  long  logs  down  the  incline.  The 
track  itself  was  slippery  from  this,  and  pre- 
occupied all  Hamlin's  skill  as  a  horseman, 
even  to  the  point  of  stopping  his  usual  care- 
less whistle.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  the 
track  became  level  again,  and  he  was  con- 
fronted with  a  singular  phenomenon. 

He  had  entered  the  wood,  and  the  trail 


26          A  SAPPHO   OF   GREEN  SPRINGS. 

seemed  to  cleave  through  a  far-stretching, 
motionless  sea  of  ferns  that  flowed  on  either 
side  to  the  height  of  his  horse's  flanks.  The 
straight  shafts  of  the  trees  rose  like  columns 
from  their  hidden  bases  and  were  lost  again 
in  a  roof  of  impenetrable  leafage,  leaving  a 
clear  space  of  fifty  feet  between,  through 
which  the  surrounding  horizon  of  sky  was 
perfectly  visible.  All  the  light  that  entered 
th;s  vast  sylvan  hall  came  from  the  sides ; 
nothing  permeated  from  above ;  nothing 
radiated  from  below  ;  the  height  of  the  crest 
on  which  the  wood  was  placed  gave  it  this 
lateral  illumination,  but  gave  it  also  the  pro- 
found isolation  of  some  temple  raised  by 
long-forgotten  hands.  In  spite  of  the  height 
of  these  clear  shafts,  they  seemed  dwarfed  by 
the  expanse  of  the  wood,  and  in  the  farthest 
perspective  the  base  of  ferns  and  the  capital 
of  foliage  appeared  almost  to  meet.  As  the 
boy  had  warned  him,  the  slide  had  turned 
aside,  skirting  the  wood  to  follow  the  incline, 
and  presently  the  little  trail  he  now  followed 
vanished  utterly,  leaving  him  and  his  horse 
adrift  breast-high  in  this  green  and  yellow 
sea  of  fronds.  But  Mr.  Hamlin,  imperious  of 
obstacles,  and  touched  by  some  curiosity, 
continued  to  advance  lazily,  taking  the  bear- 


A  SAPPHO   OF   GREEN  SPRINGS.          27 

ings  of  a  larger  red-wood  in  the  centre  of  the 
grove  for  his  objective  point.  The  elastic 
mass  gave  way  before  him,  brushing  his 
knees  or  combing  his  horse's  flanks  with 
wide-spread  elfin  fingers,  and  closing  up  be- 
hind him  as  he  passed,  as  if  to  obliterate 
any  track  by  which  he  might  return.  Yet 
his  usual  luck  did  not  desert  him  here.  Be- 
ing on  horseback,  he  found  that  he  could 
detect  what  had  been  invisible  to  the  boy 
and  probably  to  all  pedestrians,  namely, 
that  the  growth  was  not  equally  dense,  that 
there  were  certain  thinner  and  more  open 
spaces  that  he  could  take  advantage  of  by 
more  circuitous  progression,  always,  how- 
ever, keeping  the  bearings  of  the  central 
tree.  This  he  at  last  reached,  and  halted  his 
panting  horse.  Here  a  new  idea  which  had 
been  haunting  him  since  he  entered  the 
wood  took  fuller  possession  of  him.  He 
had  seen  or  known  all  this  before  !  There 
was  a  strange  familiarity  either  in  these  ob- 
jects or  in  the  impression  or  spell  they  left 
upon  him.  He  remembered  the  verses  !  Yes, 
this  was  the  "  underbrush  "  which  the  po- 
etess had  described:  the  gloom  above  and 
below,  the  light  that  seemed  blown  through 
it  like  the  wind,  the  suggestion  of  hidden 


28    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

life  beneath  this  tangled  luxuriance,  which 
she  alone  had  penetrated,  —  all  this  was 
here.  But,  more  than  that,  here  was  the 
atmosphere  that  she  had  breathed  into  the 
plaintive  melody  of  her  verse.  It  did  not 
necessarily  follow  that  Mr.  Hamlin's  trans- 
lation of  her  sentiment  was  the  correct  one, 
or  that  the  ideas  her  verses  had  provoked  in 
his  mind  were  at  all  what  had  been  hers :  in 
his  easy  susceptibility  he  was  simply  thrown 
into  a  corresponding  mood  of  emotion  and 
relieved  himself  with  song.  One  of  the 
verses  he  had  already  associated  in  his  mind 
with  the  rhythm  of  an  old  plantation  mel- 
ody, and  it  struck  his  fancy  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  solitude  to  try  its  effect.  Hum- 
ming to  himself,  at  first  softly,  he  at  last 
grew  bolder,  and  let  his  voice  drift  away 
through  the  stark  pillars  of  the  sylvan  colon- 
nade till  it  seemed  to  suffuse  and  fill  it  with 
no  more  effort  than  the  light  which  strayed 
in  on  either  side.  Sitting  thus,  his  hat 
thrown  a  little  back  from  his  clustering 
curls,  the  white  neck  and  shoulders  of  his 
horse  uplifting  him  above  the  crested  mass 
of  fern,  his  red  sash  the  one  fleck  of  color 
in  their  olive  depths,  I  am  afraid  he  looked 
much  more  like  the  real  minstrel  of  the 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.         29 

grove  than  the  unknown  poetess  who  trans- 
figured it.  But  this,  as  has  been  already  in- 
dicated, was  Jack  Hamlin's  peculiar  gift. 
Even  as  he  had  previously  outshone  the 
vaquero  in  his  borrowed  dress,  he  now  si- 
lenced and  supplanted  a  few  fluttering  blue- 
jays  —  rightful  tenants  of  the  wood  —  with 
a  more  graceful  and  airy  presence  and  a  far 
sweeter  voice. 

The  open  horizon  towards  the  west  had 
taken  a  warmer  color  from  the  already  slant- 
ing sun  when  Mr.  Hamlin,  having  rested  his 
horse,  turned  to  that  direction.  He  had  no- 
ticed that  the  wood  was  thinner  there,  and, 
pushing  forward,  he  was  presently  rewarded 
by  the  sound  of  far-off  wheels,  and  knew  he 
must  be  near  the  high-road  that  the  boy  had 
spoken  of.  Having  given  up  his  previous 
intention  of  crossing  the  stream,  there  seemed 
nothing  better  for  him  to  do  than  to  follow 
the  truant's  advice  and  take  the  road  back 
to  Green  Springs.  Yet  he  was  loath  to 
leave  the  wood,  halting  on  its  verge,  and 
turning  to  look  back  into  its  charmed  re- 
cesses. Once  or  twice  —  perhaps  because  he 
recalled  the  words  of  the  poem  —  that  yel- 
lowish sea  of  ferns  had  seemed  instinct  with 
hidden  life,  and  he  had  even  fancied,  here 


30          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

and  there,  a  swaying  of  its  plumed  crests. 
Howbeit,  he  still  lingered  long  enough  for 
the  open  sunlight  into  which  he  had  ob- 
truded to  point  out  the  bravery  of  his  hand- 
some figure.  Then  he  wheeled  his  horse, 
the  light  glanced  from  polished  double  bit 
and  bridle-fripperies,  caught  his  red  sash 
and  bullion  buttons,  struck  a  parting  flash 
from  his  silver  spurs,  and  he  was  gone ! 

For  a  moment  the  light  streamed  un- 
brokenly  through  the  wood.  And  then  it 
could  be  seen  that  the  yellow  mass  of  under- 
growth had  moved  with  the  passage  of  an- 
other figure  than  his  own.  For  ever  since 
he  had  entered  the  shade,  a  woman,  shawled 
in  a  vague,  shapeless  fashion,  had  watched 
him  wonderingly,  eagerly,  excitedly,  gliding 
from  tree  to  tree  as  he  advanced,  or  else 
dropping  breathlessly  below  the  fronds  of 
fern  whence  she  gazed  at  him  as  between 
parted  fingers.  When  he  wheeled  she  had 
run  openly  to  the  west,  albeit  with  hidden 
face  and  still  clinging  shawl,  and  taken  a 
last  look  at  his  retreating  figure.  And  then, 
with  a  faint  but  lingering  sigh,  she  drew 
back  into  the  shadow  of  the  wood  again  and 
vanished  also. 


CHAPTER  III. 

AT  the  end  of  twenty  minutes  Mr.  Ham- 
lin  reined  in  his  mare.  He  had  just  ob- 
served in  the  distant  shadows  of  a  by-lane 
that  intersected  his  road  the  vanishing  flut- 
ter of  two  light  print  dresses.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation  he  lightly  swerved  out 
of  the  high-road  and  followed  the  retreating 
figures. 

As  he  neared  them,  they  seemed  to  be 
two  slim  young  girls,  evidently  so  preoccu- 
pied with  the  rustic  amusement  of  edging 
each  other  off  the  grassy  border  into  the 
dust  of  the  track  that  they  did  not  perceive 
his  approach.  Little  shrieks,  slight  scuf- 
flings,  and  interjections  of  "  Cynthy !  you 
limb  !  "  "  Quit  that,  Eunice,  now  !  "  and 
"  I  just  call  that  real  mean  !  "  apparently 
drowned  the  sound  of  his  canter  in  the  soft 
dust.  Checking  his  speed  to  a  gentle  trot, 
and  pressing  his  horse  close  beside  the  op- 
posite fence,  he  passed  them  with  gravely 
uplifted  hat  and  a  serious,  preoccupied  air. 


32         A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN    SPRINGS. 

But  in  that  single,  seemingly  conventional 
glance,  Mr.  Hamlin  had  seen  that  they  were 
both  pretty,  and  that  one  had  the  short  upper 
lip  of  his  errant  little  guide.  A  hundred 
yards  farther  on  he  halted,  as  if  irresolutely, 
gazed  doubtfully  ahead  of  him,  and  then 
turned  back.  An  expression  of  innocent  — 
almost  childlike  —  concern  was  clouding  the 
rascal's  face.  It  was  well,  as  the  two  girls 
had  drawn  closely  together,  having  been  ap- 
parently surprised  in  the  midst  of  a  glowing 
eulogium  of  this  glorious  passing  vision  by 
its  sudden  return.  At  his  nearer  approach, 
the  one  with  the  short  upper  lip  hid  that 
piquant  feature  and  the  rest  of  her  rosy  face 
behind  the  other's  shoulder,  which  was  sud- 
denly and  significantly  opposed  to  the  ad- 
vance of  this  handsome  intruder,  with  a  cer- 
tain dignity,  half  real,  half  affected,  but 
wholly  charming.  The  protectress  appeared 
—  possibly  from  her  defensive  attitude  — 
the  superior  of  her  companion. 

Audacious  as  Jack  was  to  his  own  sex,  he 
had  early  learned  that  such  rare  but  discom- 
posing graces  as  he  possessed  required  a  cer- 
tain apologetic  attitude  when  presented  to 
women,  and  that  it  was  only  a  plain  man 
who  could  be  always  complacently  self-con- 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.          33 

fident  in  their  presence.  There  was,  conse- 
quently, a  hesitating  lowering  of  this  hypo- 
crite's brown  eyelashes  as  he  said,  in  almost 
pained  accents,  — 

"  Excuse  me,  but  I  fear  I  Ve  taken  the 
wrong  road.  I  'm  going  to  Green  Springs." 

44 1  reckon  you  've  taken  the  wrong  road, 
wherever  you  're  going,"  returned  the  young 
lady,  having  apparently  made  up  her  mind 
to  resent  each  of  Jack's  perfections  as  a 
separate  impertinence :  4t  this  is  a  private 
road."  She  drew  herself  fairly  up  here, 
although  gurgled  at  in  the  ear  and  pinched 
in  the  arm  by  her  companion. 

44 1  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Jack,  meekly. 
"  I  see  I  'm  trespassing  on  your  grounds. 
I  'm  very  sorry.  Thank  you  for  telling  me. 
I  should  have  gone  on  a  mile  or  two  farther, 
I  suppose,  until  I  came  to  your  house,"  he 
added,  innocently. 

44  A  mile  or  two  !  You  'd  have  run  chock 
ag'in'  our  gate  in  another  minit,"  said  the 
short -lipped  one,  eagerly.  But  a  sharp 
nudge  from  her  companion  sent  her  back 
again  into  cover,  where  she  waited  expec- 
tantly for  another  crushing  retort  from  her 
protector. 

But,  alas !  it  did  not  come.     One  cannot 


34          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

be  always  witty,  and  Jack  looked  distressed. 

Nevertheless,   he    took    advantage    of    the 

pause. 

"  It  was  so  stupid  in  me,  as  I  think  your 

brother  "  —  looking   at    Short-lip  —  "  very 

carefully  told  me  the  road." 

The  two  girls  darted  quick  glances  at  each 

other.     "  Oh,  Bawb !  "  said  the  first  speaker, 

in  wearied  accents,  —  "  that  limb !    He  don't 

keer." 

"  But  he  did  care,"  said  Hamlin,  quietly, 
"  and  gave  me  a  good  deal  of  information. 
Thanks  to  him,  I  was  able  to  see  that  ferny 
wood  that 's  so  famous  —  about  two  miles  up 
the  road.  You  know  —  the  one  that  there 's 
a  poem  written  about !  " 

The  shot  told  !  Short-lip  burst  into  a 
display  of  dazzling  little  teeth  and  caught 
the  other  girl  convulsively  by  the  shoulders. 
The  superior  girl  bent  her  pretty  brows,  and 
said,  "  Eunice,  what 's  gone  of  ye  ?  Quit 
that !  "  but,  as  Hamlin  thought,  paled 
slightly. 

"  Of  course,'*  said  Hamlin,  quickly,  "  you 
know — the  poem  everybody 's  talking  about. 
Dear  me !  let  me  see !  how  does  it  go  ?  "  The 
rascal  knit  his  brows,  said,  "  Ah,  yes,"  and 
then  murmured  the  verse  he  had  lately  sung 
quite  as  musically. 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.          35 

Short -lip  was  shamelessly  exalted  and 
excited.  Really  she  could  scarcely  believe 
it !  She  already  heard  herself  relating  the 
whole  occurrence.  Here  was  the  most  beau- 
tiful young  man  she  had  ever  seen  —  an  en- 
tire stranger  —  talking  to  them  in  the  most 
beautiful  and  natural  way,  right  in  the  lane, 
and  reciting  poetry  to  her  sister!  It  was 
like  a  novel  —  only  more  so.  She  thought 
that  Cynthia,  on  the  other  hand,  looked  dis- 
tressed, and  —  she  must  say  it  —  "  silly." 

All  of  which  Jack  noted,  and  was  wise. 
He  had  got  all  he  wanted  —  at  present.  He 
gathered  up  his  reins. 

u  Thank  you  so  much,  and  your  brother, 
too,  Miss  Cynthia,"  he  said,  without  looking 
up.  Then,  adding,  with  a  parting  glance 
and  smile,  "  But  don't  tell  Bob  how  stupid  I 
was,"  he  swiftly  departed. 

In  half  an  hour  he  was  at  the  Green 
Springs  Hotel.  As  he  rode  into  the  stable 
yard,  he  noticed  that  the  coach  had  only  just 
arrived,  having  been  detained  by  a  land-slip 
on  the  Summit  road.  With  the  recollection 
of  Bob  fresh  in  his  mind,  he  glanced  at  the 
loungers  at  the  stage  office.  The  boy  was 
not  there,  but  a  moment  later  Jack  detected 
him  among  the  waiting  crowd  at  the  post- 


36          A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

office  opposite.  With  a  view  of  following 
up  his  inquiries,  he  crossed  the  road  as  the 
boy  entered  the  vestibule  of  the  post-office. 
He  arrived  in  time  to  see  him  unlock  one  of 
a  row  of  numbered  letter-boxes  rented  by 
subscribers,  which  occupied  a  partition  by 
the  window,  and  take  out  a  small  package 
and  a  letter.  But  in  that  brief  glance  Mr. 
Hamlin  detected  the  printed  address  of  the 
"  Excelsior  Magazine  "  on  the  wrapper.  It 
was  enough.  Luck  was  certainly  with  him. 

He  had  time  to  get  rid  of  the  wicked 
sparkle  that  had  lit  his  dark  eyes,  and  to 
lounge  carelessly  towards  the  boy  as  the  lat- 
ter broke  open  the  package,  and  then  hur- 
riedly concealed  it  in  his  jacket-pocket,  and 
started  for  the  door.  Mr.  Hamlin  quickly 
followed  him,  unperceived,  and,  as  he  stepped 
into  the  street,  gently  tapped  him  on  the 
shoulder.  The  boy  turned  and  faced  him 
quickly.  But  Mr.  Hamlin's  eyes  showed 
nothing  but  lazy  good-humor. 

"  Hullo,  Bob.     Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

The  boy  again  looked  up  suspiciously  at 
this  revelation  of  his  name. 

"  Home,"  he  said,  briefly. 

"  Oh,  over  yonder,"  said  Hamlin,  calmly. 
"  I  don't  mind  walking  with  you  as  far  as 
the  lane." 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.          37 

He  saw  the  boy's  eyes  glance  furtively 
towards  an  alley  that  ran  beside  the  black- 
smith's shop  a  few  rods  ahead,  and  was  con- 
vinced that  he  intended  to  evade  him  there. 
Slipping  his  arm  carelessly  in  the  youth's, 
he  concluded  to  open  fire  at  once. 

"  Bob,"  he  said,  with  irresistible  gravity, 
"  I  did  not  know  when  I  met  you  this  morn- 
ing that  I  had  the  honor  of  addressing  a 
poet  —  none  other  than  the  famous  author 
of  'Underbrush.'" 

The  boy  started  back,  and  endeavored  to 
withdraw  his  arm,  but  Mr.  Hamlin  tightened 
his  hold,  without,  however,  changing  his  care- 
less expression. 

"  You  see,"  he  continued,  "  the  editor  is  a 
friend  of  mine,  and,  being  afraid  this  pack- 
age might  not  get  into  the  right  hands  — 
as  you  did  n't  give  your  name  —  he  depu- 
tized me  to  come  here  and  see  that  it  was 
all  square.  As  you  're  rather  young,  for 
all  you  're  so  gifted,  I  reckon  I  'd  better  go 
home  with  you,  and  take  a  receipt  from  your 
parents.  That 's  about  square,  I  think  ?  " 

The  consternation  of  the  boy  was  so  evi- 
dent and  so  far  beyond  Mr.  Hamlin's  ex- 
pectation that  he  instantly  halted  him,  gazed 
into  his  shifting  eyes,  and  gave  a  long 
whistle. 


38    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

"  Who  said  it  was  for  me  ?  Wot  you 
talkin'  about  ?  Lemme  go ! "  gasped  the 
boy,  with  the  short  intermittent  breath  of 
mingled  fear  and  passion. 

"  Bob,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  in  a  singularly 
colorless  voice  which  was  very  rare  with  him, 
and  an  expression  quite  unlike  his  own, 
"  what  is  your  little  game  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  down  in  dogged  silence. 

"  Out  with  it !  Who  are  you  playing  this 
on?" 

"  It 's  all  among  my  own  folks ;  it 's  noth- 
in'  to  you"  said  the  boy,  suddenly  beginning 
to  struggle  violently,  as  if  inspired  by  this 
extenuating  fact. 

"  Among  your  own  folks,  eh  ?  White 
Violet  and  the  rest,  eh  ?  But  she  's  not  in 
it?" 

No  reply. 

"  Hand  me  over  that  package.  I  '11  give 
it  back  to  you  again." 

The  boy  handed  it  to  Mr.  Hamlin.  He 
read  the  letter,  and  found  the  inclosure  con- 
tained a  twenty-dollar  gold-piece.  A  half- 
supercilious  smile  passed  over  his  face  at  this 
revelation  of  the  inadequate  emoluments  of 
literature  and  the  trifling  inducements  to 
crime.  Indeed,  I  fear  the  affair  began  to 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.     39 

take  a  less  serious  moral  complexion  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Then  White  Violet  —  your  sister  Cyn- 
thia, you  know,"  continued  Mr.  Hamlin,  in 
easy  parenthesis  —  "  wrote  for  this  ?  "  hold- 
ing the  coin  contemplatively  in  his  fingers, 
"  and  you  calculated  to  nab  it  yourself  ?  " 

The  quick  searching  glance  with  which 
Bob  received  the  name  of  his  sister,  Mr. 
Hamlin  attributed  only  to  his  natural  sur- 
prise that  this  stranger  should  be  on  such 
familiar  terms  with  her ;  but  the  boy  re- 
sponded immediately  and  bluntly  :  — 

"No!  She  didn't  write  for  it.  She 
did  n't  want  nobody  to  know  who  she  was. 
Nobody  wrote  for  it  but  me.  Nobody  knew 
folks  was  paid  for  poetry  but  me.  I  found 
it  out  from  a  feller.  I  wrote  for  it.  Zwas  n't 
goin'  to  let  that  skunk  of  an  editor  have  it 
himself!" 

"  And  you  thought  you  would  take  it," 
said  Hamlin,  his  voice  resuming  its  old  tone. 
"  Well,  George  —  I  mean  Bob,  your  conduct 
was  praiseworthy,  although  your  intentions 
were  bad.  Still,  twenty  dollars  is  rather  too 
much  for  your  trouble.  Suppose  we  say 
five  and  call  it  square?"  He  handed  the 
astonished  boy  five  dollars.  "  Now,  George 


40    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

Washington,"  he  continued,  taking  four 
other  twenty-dollar  pieces  from  his  pocket, 
and  adding  them  to  the  inclosure,  which  he 
carefully  refolded,  "  I  'm  going  to  give  you 
another  chance  to  live  up  to  your  reputation. 
You  '11  take  that  package,  and  hand  it  to 
White  Violet,  and  say  you  found  it,  just 
as  it  is,  in  the  lock-box.  I  '11  keep  the  let- 
ter, for  it  would  knock  you  endways  if  it 
was  seen,  and  I  '11  make  it  all  right  with  the 
editor.  But,  as  I  've  got  to  tell  him  that 
I  Ve  seen  White  Violet  myself,  and  know 
she  's  got  it,  I  expect  you  to  manage  in  some 
way  to  have  me  see  her.  I  '11  manage  the 
rest  of  it ;  and  I  won't  blow  on  you,  either. 
You  '11  come  back  to  the  hotel,  and  tell  me 
what  you  've  done.  And  now,  George,"  con- 
cluded Mr.  Hamlin,  succeeding  at  last  in 
fixing  the  boy's  evasive  eye  with  a  peculiar 
look,  "it  may  be  just  as  well  for  you  to 
understand  that  I  know  every  nook  and  cor- 
ner of  this  place,  that  I  've  already  been 
through  that  underbrush  you  spoke  of  once 
this  morning,  and  that  I  've  got  a  mare  that 
can  go  wherever  you  can,  and  a  d — d  sight 
quicker !  " 

"  1  '11  give  the  package  to  White  Violet," 
said  the  boy,  doggedly. 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS  .         41 

44  And  you  '11  come  back  to  the  hotel  ?  " 

The  boy  hesitated,  and  then  said,  "  I  '11 
come  back." 

"  All  right,  then.     Adios,  general." 

Bob  disappeared  around  the  corner  of  a 
cross-road  at  a  rapid  trot,  and  Mr.  Hamlin 
turned  into  the  hotel. 

"  Smart  little  chap  that !  "  he  said  to  the 
barkeeper. 

"  You  bet !  "  returned  the  man,  who,  hav- 
ing recognized  Mr.  Hamlin,  was  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  conversing  with  a  gentle- 
man of  such  decidedly  dangerous  reputation. 
"  But  he  's  been  allowed  to  run  a  little  wild 
since  old  man  Delate ur  died,  and  the  wid- 
der  's  got  enough  to  do,  I  reckon,  lookin'  arter 
her  four  gals,  and  takin'  keer  of  old  Dela- 
tour's  ranch  over  yonder.  I  guess  it  's 
pretty  hard  sleddin'  for  her  sometimes  to 
get  clo'es  and  grub  for  the  famerly,  without 
follerin'  Bob  around." 

"  Sharp  girls,  too,  I  reckon ;  one  of  them 
writes  things  for  the  magazines,  does  n't 
she?  —  Cynthia,  eh?"  said  Mr.  Hamlin, 
carelessly. 

Evidently  this  fact  was  not  a  notorious  one 
to  the  barkeeper.  He,  however,  said,  "  Dun- 
no  ;  mabbee ;  her  father  was  eddicated,  and 


42    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

the  widder  Delatour,  too,  though  she  's  sorter 
queer,  I  've  heard  tell.  Lord !  Mr.  Hamlin, 
you  oughter  remember  old  man  Delatour ! 
From  Opelousas,  Louisiany,  you  know! 
High  old  sport  —  French  style,  frilled  bosom 
—  open-handed,  and  us'ter  buck  ag'in'  faro 
awful !  Why,  he  dropped  a  heap  o'  money 
to  you  over  in  San  Jose  two  years  ago  at 
poker !  You  must  remember  him  !•" 

The  slightest  possible  flush  passed  over 
Mr.  Hamlin's  brow  under  the  shadow  of  his 
hat,  but  did  not  get  lower  than  his  eyes. 
He  suddenly  had  recalled  the  spendthrift 
Delatour  perfectly,  and  as  quickly  regretted 
now  that  he  had  not  doubled  the  honorarium 
he  had  just  sent  to  his  portionless  daughter. 
But  he  only  said,  coolly,  "  No,"  and  then, 
raising  his  pale  face  and  audacious  eyes, 
continued  in  his  laziest  and  most  insulting 
manner,  "  no :  the  fact  is,  my  mind  is  just 
now  preoccupied  in  wondering  if  the  gas  is 
leaking  anywhere,  and  if  anything  is  ever 
served  over  this  bar  except  elegant  conver- 
sation. When  the  gentleman  who  mixes 
drinks  comes  back,  perhaps  you  '11  be  good 
enough  to  tell  him  to  send  a  whisky  sour  to 
Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  in  the  parlor.  Meantime, 
you  can  turn  off  your  soda  fountain :  I  don't 
want  any  fizz  in  mine." 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.    43 

Having  thus  quite  recovered  himself,  Mr. 
Hamlin  lounged  gracefully  across  the  hall 
into  the  parlor.  As  he  did  so,  a  darkish 
young  man,  with  a  slim  boyish  figure,  a  thin 
face,  and  a  discontented  expression,  rose 
from  an  armchair,  held  out  his  hand,  and, 
with  a  saturnine  smile,  said  :  — 

"Jack!" 

"Fred!" 

The  two  men  remained  gazing  at  each 
other  with  a  half-amused,  half-guarded  ex- 
pression. Mr.  Hamlin  was  first  to  begin. 
"  I  did  n't  think  you  '  J  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
try  on  this  kind  of  thing,  Fred,"  he  said, 
half  seriously. 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  to  keep  you  from  being 
a  much  bigger  one  that  I  hunted  you  up," 
said  the  editor,  mischievously.  "  Read  that. 
I  got  it  an  hour  after  you  left."  And  he 
placed  a  little  triumphantly  in  Jack's  hand 
the  letter  he  had  received  from  White 
Violet. 

Mr.  Hamlin  read  it  with  an  unmoved  face, 
and  then  laid  his  two  hands  on  the  editor's 
shoulders.  "  Yes,  my  young  friend,  and  you 
sat  down  and  wrote  her  a  pretty  letter  and 
sent  her  twenty  dollars  —  which,  permit  me 
to  say,  was  d — d  poor  pay  !  But  that  is  n't 


44    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

your  fault,  I  reckon :  it 's  the  meanness  of 
your  proprietors." 

"  But  it  is  n't  the  question,  either,  just 
now,  Jack,  however  you  have  been  able  to 
answer  it.  Do  you  mean  to  say  seriously 
that  you  want  to  know  anything  more  of  a 
woman  who  could  write  such  a  letter  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Jack,  cheerfully. 
"  She  might  be  a  devilish  sight  funnier  than 
if  she  had  n't  written  it  —  which  is  the  fact." 

"  You  mean  to  say  she  did  n't  write  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Who  did,  then?" 

"  Her  brother  Bob." 

After  a  moment's  scrutiny  of  his  friend's 
bewildered  face,  Mr.  Hainlin  briefly  related 
his  adventures,  from  the  moment  of  his  meet- 
ing Bob  at  the  mountain-stream  to  the  bar- 
keeper's gossiping  comment  and  sequel. 
"  Therefore,"  he  concluded,  "  the  author  of 
'  Underbrush '  is  Miss  Cynthia  Delatour,  one 
of  four  daughters  of  a  widow  who  lives  two 
miles  from  here  at  the  crossing.  I  shall  see 
her  this  evening  and  make  sure ;  but  to- 
morrow morning  you  will  pay  me  the  break- 
fast you  owe  me.  She  's  good-looking,  but 
I  can't  say  I  fancy  the  poetic  style  :  it 's  a 
little  too  high-toned  for  me.  However,  I 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.         45 

love  my  love  with  a  C,  because  she  is  your 
Contributor ;  I  hate  her  with  a  C,  because 
of  her  Connections  ;  I  met  her  by  Chance 
and  treated  her  with  Civility ;  her  name  is 
Cynthia,  and  she  lives  on  a  Cross-road." 

"  But  you  surely  don't  expect  you  will 
ever  see  Bob,  again !  "  said  the  editor,  impa- 
tiently. "  You  have  trusted  him  with  enough 
to  start  him  for  the  Sandwich  Islands,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  ruinous  precedent  you 
have  established  in  his  mind  of  the  value  of 
poetry.  I  am  surprised  that  a  man  of  your 
knowledge  of  the  world  would  have  faith  in 
that  imp  the  second  time." 

44  My  knowledge  of  the  world,"  returned 
Mr.  Hamlin,  sententiously,  "  tells  me  that 's 
the  only  way  you  can  trust  anybody.  Once 
does  n't  make  a  habit,  nor  show  a  character. 
I  could  see  by  his  bungling  that  he  had  never 
tried  this  on  before.  Just  now  the  tempta- 
tion to  wipe  out  his  punishment  by  doing  the 
square  thing,  and  coming  back  a  sort  of  hero, 
is  stronger  than  any  other.  'T  is  n't  every- 
body that  gets  that  chance,"  he  added,  with 
an  odd  laugh. 

Nevertheless,  three  hours  passed  without 
bringing  Bob.  The  two  men  had  gone  to 
the  billiard-room,  when  a  waiter  brought  a 


46          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPEfNGS. 

note,  which  he  handed  to  Mr.  Hamlin  with 
some  apologetic  hesitation.  It  bore  no  super- 
scription, but  had  been  brought  by  a  boy 
who  described  Mr.  Hamlin  perfectly,  and 
requested  that  the  note  should  be  handed  to 
him  with  the  remark  that  "  Bob  had  come 
back." 

"  And  is  he  there  now  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Ham- 
lin, holding  the  letter  unopened  in  his  hand. 

"  No,  sir ;  he  run  right  off." 

The  editor  laughed,  but  Mr.  Hamlin,  hav- 
ing perused  the  note,  put  away  his  cue. 
"  Come  into  my  room,"  he  said. 

The  editor  followed,  and  Mr.  Hamlin  laid 
the  note  before  him  on  the  table.  "  Bob 's 
all  right,"  he  said,  "  for  I  '11  bet  a  thousand 
dollars  that  note  is  genuine." 

It  was  delicately  written,  in  a  cultivated 
feminine  hand,  utterly  unlike  the  scrawl  that 
had  first  excited  the  editor's  curiosity,  and 
ran  as  follows  :  — 

He  who  brought  me  the  bounty  of  your 
friend  —  for  I  cannot  call  a  recompense  so 
far  above  my  deserts  by  any  other  name  — 
gives  me  also  to  understand  that  you  wished 
for  an  interview.  I  cannot  believe  that  this 
is  mere  idle  curiosity,  or  that  you  have  any 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.        47 

motive  that  is  not  kindly  and  honorable,  but 
I  feel  that  I  must  beg  and  pray  you  not  to 
seek  to  remove  the  veil  behind  which  I  have 
chosen  to  hide  myself  and  my  poor  efforts 
from  identification.  I  think  I  know  you  — 
I  know  I  know  myself  —  well  enough  to  be- 
lieve it  would  give  neither  of  us  any  happi- 
ness. You  will  say  to  your  generous  friend 
that  he  has  already  given  the  Unknown  more 
comfort  and  hope  than  could  come  from  any 
personal  compliment  or  publicity,  and  you 
will  yourself  believe  that  you  have  all  un- 
consciously brightened  a  sad  woman's  fancy 
with  a  Dream  and  a  Vision  that  before  to- 
day had  been  unknown  to 

WHITE  VIOLET. 

"  Have  you  read  it  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hamlin. 

"Yes." 

"  Then  you  don't  want  to  see  it  any  more, 
or  even  remember  you  ever  saw  it,"  said  Mr. 
Hamlin,  carefully  tearing  the  note  into  small 
pieces  and  letting  them  drift  from  the  win- 
dows like  blown  blossoms. 

"  But,  I  say,  Jack !  look  here  ;  I  don't  un- 
derstand !  You  say  you  have  already  seen 
this  woman,  and  yet  "  — 

"  I  have  n't  seen  her,"  said  Jack,  compos- 
edly, turning  from  the  window. 


48          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  you  and  I,  Fred,  are  going 
to  drop  this  fooling  right  here  and  leave 
this  place  for  Frisco  by  first  stage  to-morrow, 
and  —  that  I  owe  you  that  dinner." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHEN  the  stage  for  San  Francisco  rolled 
away  the  next  morning  with  Mr.  Hamlin 
and  the  editor,  the  latter  might  have  recog- 
nized in  the  occupant  of  a  dust -covered 
buggy  that  was  coming  leisurely  towards 
them  the  tall  figure,  long  beard,  and  straight 
duster  of  his  late  visitor,  Mr.  James  Bowers. 
For  Mr.  Bowers  was  on  the  same  quest  that 
the  others  had  just  abandoned.  Like  Mr. 
Hamlin,  he  had  been  left  to  his  own  re- 
sources, but  Mr.  Bowers's  resources  were  a 
life-long  experience  and  technical  skill;  he 
too  had  noted  the  topographical  indications 
of  the  poem,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  sylva 
of  Upper  California  pointed  as  unerringly 
as  Mr.  Hamlin's  luck  to  the  cryptogamous 
haunts  of  the  Summit.  Such  abnormal 
growths  were  indicative  of  certain  localities 
only,  but,  as  they  were  not  remunerative 
from  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  were  to  be 
avoided  by  the  sagacious  woodman.  It  was 
clear,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Bowers's  visit  to 


50          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

Green  Springs  was  not  professional,  and 
that  he  did  not  even  figuratively  accept  the 
omen. 

He  baited  and  rested  his  horse  at  the 
hotel,  where  his  bucolic  exterior,  however, 
did  not  elicit  that  attention  which  had  been 
accorded  to  Mr.  Hamlin's  charming  inso- 
lence or  the  editor's  cultivated  manner.  But 
he  glanced  over  a  township  map  on  the  walls 
of  the  reading-room,  and  took  note  of  the 
names  of  the  owners  of  different  lots,  farms, 
and  ranches,  passing  that  of  Delatour  with 
the  others.  Then  he  drove  leisurely  in  the 
direction  of  the  woods,  and,  reaching  them, 
tied  his  horse  to  a  young  sapling  in  the 
shade,  and  entered  their  domain  with  a 
shambling  but  familiar  woodman's  step. 

It  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  brief  chroni- 
cle to  follow  Mr.  Bowers  in  his  professional 
diagnosis  of  the  locality.  He  recognized 
Nature  in  one  of  her  moods  of  wasteful 
extravagance,  —  a  waste  that  his  experienced 
eye  could  tell  was  also  sapping  the  vitality 
of  those  outwardly  robust  shafts  that  rose 
around  him.  He  knew,  without  testing 
them,  that  half  of  these  fair-seeming  col- 
umns were  hollow  and  rotten  at  the  core ; 
he  could  detect  the  chill  odor  of  decay 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPKJNGS.          51 

through  the  hot  balsamic  spices  stirred  by 
the  wind  that  streamed  through  their  long 
aisles,  —  like  incense  mingling  with  the  ex- 
halations of  a  crypt.  He  stopped  now  and 
then  to  part  the  heavy  fronds  down  to  their 
roots  in  the  dank  moss,  seeing  again,  as  he 
had  told  the  editor,  the  weird  second  twilight 
through  their  miniature  stems,  and  the  mi- 
crocosm of  life  that  filled  it.  But,  even  while 
paying  this  tribute  to  the  accuracy  of  the 
unknown  poetess,  he  was,  like  his  predeces- 
sor, haunted  more  strongly  by  the  atmos- 
phere and  melody  of  her  verse.  Its  spell 
was  upon  him,  too.  Unlike  Mr.  Hamlin,  he 
did  not  sing.  He  only  halted  once  or  twice, 
silently  combing  his  straight  narrow  beard 
with  his  three  fingers,  until  the  action  seemed 
to  draw  down  the  lines  of  his  face  into  limit- 
less dejection,  and  an  inscrutable  melancholy 
filled  his  small  gray  eyes.  The  few  birds 
which  had  hailed  Mr.  Hamlin  as  their  suc- 
cessful rival  fled  away  before  the  grotesque 
and  angular  half-length  of  Mr.  Bowers,  as  if 
the  wind  had  blown  in  a  scarecrow  from  the 
distant  farms. 

Suddenly  he  observed  the  figure  of  a 
woman,  with  her  back  towards  him,  leaning 
motionless  against  a  tree,  and  apparently 


52          A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

gazing  intently  in  the  direction  of  Green 
Springs.  He  had  approached  so  near  to  her 
that  it  was  singular  she  had  not  heard  him. 
Mr.  Bowers  was  a  bashful  man  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  other  sex.  He  felt  exceedingly 
embarrassed;  if  he  could  have  gone  away 
without  attracting  her  attention  he  would 
have  done  so.  Neither  could  he  remain  si- 
lent, a  tacit  spy  of  her  meditation.  He  had 
recourse  to  a  polite  but  singularly  artificial 
cough. 

To  his  surprise,  she  gave  a  faint  cry, 
turned  quickly  towards  him,  and  then  shrank 
back  and  lapsed  quite  helpless  against  the 
tree.  Her  evident  distress  overcame  his 
bashfulness.  He  ran  towards  her. 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  frighted  ye,  ma'am,  but  I 
was  afraid  I  might  skeer  ye  more  if  I  lay 
low,  and  said  nothin'." 

Even  then,  if  she  had  been  some  fair 
young  country  girl,  he  would  have  relapsed 
after  this  speech  into  his  former  bashfulness. 
But  the  face  and  figure  she  turned  towards 
him  were  neither  young  nor  fair :  a  woman 
past  forty,  with  gray  threads  and  splashes 
in  her  brushed-back  hair,  which  was  turned 
over  her  ears  in  two  curls  like  frayed  strands 
of  rope.  Her  forehead  was  rather  high  than 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.         53 

broad,  her  nose  large  but  well-shaped,  and 
her  eyes  full  but  so  singularly  light  in  color 
as  to  seem  almost  sightless.  The  short  upper 
lip  of  her  large  mouth  displayed  her  teeth 
in  an  habitual  smile,  which  was  in  turn  so 
flatly  contradicted  by  every  other  line  of  her 
careworn  face  that  it  seemed  gratuitously 
artificial.  Her  figure  was  hidden  by  a  shape- 
less garment  that  partook  equally  of  the 
shawl,  cloak,  and  wrapper. 

"  I  am  very  foolish,"  she  began,  in  a  voice 
and  accent  that  at  once  asserted  a  cultivated 
woman,  "  but  I  so  seldom  meet  anybody  here 
that  a  voice  quite  startled  me.  That,  and 
the  heat,"  she  went  on,  wiping  her  face,  into 
which  the  color  was  returning  violently  — 
"  for  I  seldom  go  out  as  early  as  this  —  I 
suppose  affected  me." 

Mr.  Bowers  had  that  innate  Far- Western 
reverence  for  womanhood  which  I  fancy  chal- 
lenges the  most  polished  politeness.  He  re- 
mained patient,  undemonstrative,  self-effac- 
ing, and  respectful  before  her,  his  angular 
arm  slightly  but  not  obtrusively  advanced, 
the  offer  of  protection  being  in  the  act  rather 
than  in  any  spoken  word,  and  requiring  no 
response. 

"  Like  as  not,  ma'am,"  he  said,  cheerfully, 


54    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

looking  everywhere  but  in  her  burning  face. 
"  The  sun  is  pow'ful  hot  at  this  time  o'  day ; 
I  felt  it  myself  comin'  yer,  and,  though  the 
damp  of  this  timber  kinder  sets  it  back,  it 's 
likely  to  come  out  ag'in.  Ye  can't  check  it 
no  more  than  the  sap  in  that  choked  limb 
thar  "  —  he  pointed  ostentatiously  where  a 
fallen  pine  had  been  caught  in  the  bent  and 
twisted  arm  of  another,  but  which  still  put 
out  a  few  green  tassels  beyond  the  point  of 
impact.  "  Do  you  live  far  from  here, 
ma'am  ?  "  he  added. 

"  Only  as  far  as  the  first  turning  below 
the  hill." 

"  I  've  got  my  buggy  here,  and  I  'm  goin' 
that  way,  and  I  can  jist  set  ye  down  thar 
cool  and  comfortable.  Ef,"  he  continued, 
in  the  same  assuring  tone,  without  waiting 
for  a  reply,  "  ye  '11  jist  take  a  good  grip  of 
my  arm  thar,"  curving  his  wrist  and  hand 
behind  him  like  a  shepherd's  crook,  "  I  '11 
go  first,  and  break  away  the  brush  for  ye." 

She  obeyed  mechanically,  and  they  fared 
on  through  the  thick  ferns  in  this  fashion 
for  some  moments,  he  looking  ahead,  occa- 
sionally dropping  a  word  of  caution  or  en- 
couragement, but  never  glancing  at  her  face. 
When  they  reached  the  buggy  he  lifted  her 


A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.          55 

into  it  carefully,  —  and  perpendicularly,  it 
struck  her  afterwards,  very  much  as  if  she 
had  been  a  transplanted  sapling  with  bared 
and  sensitive  roots,  —  and  then  gravely  took 
his  place  beside  her. 

"  Bein'  in  the  timber  trade  myself,  ma'am," 
he  said,  gathering  up  the  reins,  "  I  chanced 
to  sight  these  woods,  and  took  a  look  around. 
My  name  is  Bowers,  of  Mendocino ;  I  reckon 
there  ain't  much  that  grows  in  the  way  o' 
standin'  timber  on  the  Pacific  Slope  that  I 
don't  know  and  can't  locate,  though  I  do  say 
it.  I  've  got  ez  big  a  mill,  and  ez  big  a  run 
in  my  district,  ez  there  is  anywhere.  Ef 
you  're  ever  up  my  way,  you  ask  for  Bowers 
—  Jim  Bowers  —  and  that 's  me." 

There  is  probably  nothing  more  conducive 
to  conversation  between  strangers  than  a 
wholesome  and  early  recognition  of  each 
other's  foibles.  Mr.  Bowers,  believing  his 
chance  acquaintance  a  superior  woman, 
naively  spoke  of  himself  in  a  way  that  he 
hoped  would  reassure  her  that  she  was  not 
compromising  herself  in  accepting  his  ci- 
vility, and  so  satisfy  what  must  be  her  inevi- 
table pride.  On  the  other  hand,  the  woman 
regained  her  self-possession  by  this  exhibi- 
tion of  Mr.  Bowers's  vanity,  and,  revived  by 


56    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

the  refreshing  breeze  caused  by  the  rapid 
motion  of  the  buggy  along  the  road,  thanked 
him  graciously. 

"  I  suppose  there  are  many  strangers  at 
the  Green  Springs  Hotel,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause. 

"  I  did  n't  get  to  see  'em,  as  I  only  put  up 
my  hoss  there,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  know 
the  stage  took  some  away  this  mornin' :  it 
seemed  pretty  well  loaded  up  when  I  passed 
it." 

The  woman  drew  a  deep  sigh.  The  act 
struck  Mr.  Bowers  as  a  possible  return  of 
her  former  nervous  weakness.  Her  atten- 
tion must  at  once  be  distracted  at  any  cost 
—  even  conversation. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  began,  with  sudden  and 
appalling  lightness,  "  I  'm  a-talkin'  to  Mrs. 
McFadden?" 

"  No,"  said  the  woman,  abstractedly. 

"  Then  it  must  be  Mrs.  Delatour  ?  There 
are  only  two  township  lots  on  that  cross- 
road." 

"  My  name  is  Delatour,"  she  said,  some- 
what wearily. 

Mr.  Bowers  was  conversationally  stranded. 
He  was  not  at  all  anxious  to  know  her  name, 
yet,  knowing  it  now,  it  seemed  to  suggest 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.    57 

that  there  was  nothing  more  to  say.  He 
would,  of  course,  have  preferred  to  ask  her 
if  she  had  read  the  poetry  about  the  Under- 
brush, and  if  she  knew  the  poetess,  and  what 
she  thought  of  it ;  but  the  fact  that  she  ap- 
peared to  be  an  "  eddicated  "  woman  made 
him  sensitive  of  displaying  technical  igno- 
rance in  his  manner  of  talking  about  it. 
She  might  ask  him  if  it  was  "  subjective  " 
or  "  objective  "  —  two  words  he  had  heard 
used  at  the  Debating  Society  at  Mendocino 
on  the  question,  "  Is  poetry  morally  bene- 
ficial?" For  a  few  moments  he  was  silent. 
But  presently  she  took  the  initiative  in  con- 
versation, at  first  slowly  and  abstractedly, 
and  then,  as  if  appreciating  his  sympathetic 
reticence,  or  mayhap  finding  some  relief  in 
monotonous  expression,  talked  mechanically, 
deliberately,  but  unostentatiously  about  her- 
self. So  colorless  was  her  intonation  that 
at  times  it  did  not  seem  as  if  she  was  talking 
to  him,  but  repeating  some  conversation  she 
had  held  with  another. 

She  had  lived  there  ever  since  she  had 
been  in  California.  Her  husband  had 
bought  the  Spanish  title  to  the  property 
when  they  first  married.  The  property  at 
his  death  was  found  to  be  greatly  involved ; 


58    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

she  had  been  obliged  to  part  with  much  of  it 
to  support  her  children  —  four  girls  and  a 
boy.  She  had  been  compelled  to  withdraw 
the  girls  from  the  convent  at  Santa  Clara 
to  help  about  the  house;  the  boy  was  too 
young  —  she  feared,  too  shiftless — to  do 
anything.  The  farm  did  not  pay  ;  the  land 
was  poor ;  she  knew  nothing  about  farming ; 
she  had  been  brought  up  in  New  Orleans, 
where  her  father  had  been  a  judge,  and  she 
didn't  understand  country  life.  Of  course 
she  had  been  married  too  young  —  as  all 
girls  were.  Lately  she  had  thought  of  sell- 
ing off  and  moving  to  San  Francisco,  where 
she  would  open  a  boarding-house  or  a  school 
for  young  ladies.  He  could  advise  her,  per- 
haps, of  some  good  opportunity.  Her  own 
girls  were  far  enough  advanced  to  assist  her 
in  teaching ;  one  particularly,  Cynthia,  was 
quite  clever,  and  spoke  French  and  Spanish 
fluently. 

As  Mr.  Bowers  was  familiar  with  many 
of  these  counts  in  the  feminine  American 
indictment  of  life  generally,  he  was  not 
perhaps  greatly  moved.  But  in  the  last 
sentence  he  thought  he  saw  an  opening  to 
return  to  his  main  object,  and,  looking  up 
cautiously,  said  ;  — 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.    59 

44  And  mebbe  write  po'try  now  and  then  ?  " 

To  his  great  discomfiture,  the  only  effect 
of  this  suggestion  was  to  check  his  compan- 
ion's, speech  for  some  moments  and  appar- 
ently throw  her  back  into  her  former  ab- 
straction. Yet,  after  a  long  pause,  as  they 
were  turning  into  the  lane,  she  said,  as  if 
continuing  the  subject :  — 

44 1  only  hope  that,  whatever  my  daughters 
may  do,  they  won't  marry  young." 

The  yawning  breaches  in  the  Delatour 
gates  and  fences  presently  came  in  view. 
They  were  supposed  to  be  reinforced  by  half 
a  dozen  dogs,  who,  however,  did  their  duty 
with  what  would  seem  to  be  the  prevailing 
inefficiency,  retiring  after  a  single  perfunc- 
tory yelp  to  shameless  stretching,  scratching, 
and  slumber.  Their  places  were  taken  on 
the  veranda  by  two  negro  servants,  two 
girls  respectively  of  eight  and  eleven,  and 
a  boy  of  fourteen,  who  remained  silently 
staring.  As  Mr.  Bowers  had  accepted  the 
widow's  polite  invitation  to  enter,  she  was 
compelled,  albeit  in  an  equally  dazed  and 
helpless  way,  to  issue  some  preliminary 
orders : — 

44  Now,  Chloe  —  I  mean  aunt  Dinah  — 
do  take  Eunice  —  I  mean  Victorine  and 


60          A  SAPPHO   OF   GREEN  SPRINGS. 

Una  —  away,  and  —  you  know  —  tidy  them  ; 
and  you,  Sarah  —  it 's  Sarah,  is  n't  it  ?  — 
lay  some  refreshment  in  the  parlor  for  this 
gentleman.  And,  Bob,  tell  your  sister  Cyn- 
thia to  come  here  with  Eunice."  As  Bob 
still  remained  staring  at  Mr.  Bowers,  she 
added,  in  weary  explanation,  "  Mr.  Bowers 
brought  me  over  from  the  Summit  woods  in 
his  buggy  —  it  was  so  hot.  There  —  shake 
hands  and  thank  him,  and  run  away  —  do  !  " 
They  crossed  a  broad  but  scantily  -  fur- 
nished hall.  Everywhere  the  same  look  of 
hopeless  incompleteness,  temporary  utility, 
and  premature  decay ;  most  of  the  furniture 
was  mismatched  and  misplaced ;  many  of  the 
rooms  had  changed  their  original  functions 
or  doubled  them ;  a  smell  of  cooking  came 
from  the  library,  on  whose  shelves,  mingled 
with  books,  were  dresses  and  household 
linen,  and  through  the  door  of  a  room  into 
which  Mrs.  Delatour  retired  to  remove  her 
duster  Mr.  Bowers  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  bed, 
and  of  a  table  covered  with  books  and  pa- 
pers, at  which  a  "tall,  fair  girl  was  writing. 
In  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Delatour  returned, 
accompanied  by  this  girl,  and  Eunice,  her 
short-lipped  sister.  Bob,  who  joined  the 
party  seated  around  Mr.  Bowers  and  a  table 


A   SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.         61 

set  with  cake,  a  decanter,  and  glasses,  com- 
pleted the  group.  Emboldened  by  the  pres- 
ence of  the  tall  Cynthia  and  his  glimpse  of 
her  previous  literary  attitude,  Mr.  Bowers 
resolved  to  make  one  more  attempt. 

44 1  suppose  these  yer  young  ladies  some- 
times go  to  the  wood,  too  ?  "  As  his  eye 
rested  on  Cynthia,  she  replied :  — 

"  Oh,  yes." 

44 1  reckon  on  account  of  the  purty  shad- 
ows down  in  the  brush,  and  the  soft  light, 
eh  ?  and  all  that  ?  "  he  continued,  with  a 
playful  manner  but  a  serious  accession  of 
color. 

44  Why,  the  woods  belong  to  us.  It  's 
mar's  property ! "  broke  in  Eunice  with  a 
flash  of  teeth. 

44  Well,  Lordy,  I  wanter  know ! "  said 
Mr.  Bowers,  in  some  astonishment.  4t  Why* 
that  's  right  in  my  line,  too !  I  've  been 
sightin'  timber  all  along  here,  and  that 's 
how  I  dropped  in  on  yer  mar."  Then,  see- 
ing a  look  of  eagerness  light  up  the  faces 
of  Bob  and  Eunice,  he  was  encouraged  to 
make  the  most  of  his  opportunity.  *'  Why, 
ma'am,"  he  went  on,  cheerfully,  44 1  reckon 
you  're  holdin'  that  wood  at  a  pretty  stiff 
figger,  now." 


62          A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

"Why?"  asked  Mrs.  Delatour,  simply. 

Mr.  Bowers  delivered  a  wink  at  Bob  and 
Eunice,  who  were  still  watching  him  with 
anxiety.  "Well,  not  on  account  of  the 
actool  timber,  for  the  best  of  it  ain't  sound," 
he  said,  "  but  on  account  of  its  bein'  famous ! 
Everybody  that  reads  that  pow'ful  pretty 
poem  about  it  in  the  '  Excelsior  Magazine ' 
wants  to  see  it.  Why,  it  would  pay  the 
Green  Springs  hotel-keeper  to  buy  it  up  for 
his  customers.  But  I  s'pose  you  reckon  to 
keep  it  —  along  with  the  poetess  —  in  your 
famerly?" 

Although  Mr.  Bowers  long  considered  this 
speech  as  the  happiest  and  most  brilliant 
effort  of  his  life,  its  immediate  effect  was 
not,  perhaps,  all  that  could  be  desired.  The 
widow  turned  upon  him  a  restrained  and 
darkening  face.  Cynthia  half  rose  with  an 
appealing  "  Oh,  mar !  "  and  Bob  and  Eunice, 
having  apparently  pinched  each  other  to  the 
last  stage  of  endurance,  retired  precipitately 
from  the  room  in  a  prolonged  giggle. 

"  I  have  not  yet  thought  of  disposing  of 
the  Summit  woods,  Mr.  Bowers,"  said  Mrs. 
Delatour,  coldly,  "  but  if  I  should  do  so,  I 
will  consult  you.  You  must  excuse  the  chil- 
dren, who  see  so  little  company,  they  are 


A   SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.          63 

quite  unmanageable  when  strangers  are  pres- 
ent. Cynthia,  will  you  see  if  the  servants 
have  looked  after  Mr.  Bowers's  horse  ?  You 
know  Bob  is  not  to  be  trusted." 

There  was  clearly  nothing  else  for  Mr. 
Bowers  to  do  but  to  take  his  leave,  which  he 
did  respectfully,  if  not  altogether  hopefully. 
But  when  he  had  reached  the  lane,  his  horse 
shied  from  the  unwonted  spectacle  of  Bob, 
swinging  his  hat,  and  apparently  awaiting 
him,  from  the  fork  of  a  wayside  sapling. 

44  Hoi'  up,  mister.     Look  here  !  " 

Mr.  Bowers  pulled  up.  Bob  dropped  into 
the  road,  and,  after  a  backward  glance  over 
his  shoulder,  said  :  — 

"Drive  'longside  the  fence  in  the  shad- 
der."  As  Mr.  Bowers  obeyed,  Bob  ap- 
proached the  wheels  of  the  buggy  in  a  man- 
ner half  shy,  half  mysterious.  "  You  wanter 
buy  them  Summit  woods,  mister?" 

"Well,  per'aps,  sonny.  Why?"  smiled 
Mr.  Bowers. 

44  Coz  I  '11  tell  ye  suthin'.  Don't  you  be 
fooled  into  allowin'  that  Cynthia  wrote  that 
po'try.  She  did  n't  —  no  more  'n  Eunice 
nor  me.  Mar  kinder  let  ye  think  it,  'cos 
she  don't  want  folks  to  think  she  did  it.  But 
mar  wrote  that  po'try  herself  ;  wrote  it  out 


64          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

o'  them  thar  woods  — all  by  herself.  Thar  's 
a  heap  more  po'try  thar,  you  bet,  and  jist  as 
good.  And  she  's  the  one  that  kin  write 
it  —  you  hear  me  ?  That 's  my  mar,  every 
time!  You  buy  that  thar  wood,  and  get 
mar  to  run  it  for  po'try,  and  you  '11  make 
your  pile,  sure !  I  ain't  lyin'.  You  'd  bet- 
ter look  spry  :  thar  's  another  feller  snoopin' 
'round  yere  —  only  he  barked  up  the  wrong 
tree,  and  thought  it  was  Cynthia,  jist  as  you 
did." 

"  Another  feller  ?  "  repeated  the  astonished 
Bowers. 

"  Yes ;  a  rig'lar  sport.  He  was  orful  keen 
on  that  po'try,  too,  you  bet.  So  you  'd  bet- 
ter hump  yourself  afore  somebody  else  cuts 
in.  Mar  got  a  hundred  dollars  for  that 
pome,  from  that  editor  feller  and  his  pard- 
ner.  I  reckon  that 's  the  rig'lar  price,  eh?  " 
he  added,  with  a  sudden  suspicious  caution. 

"I  reckon  so,"  replied  Mr.  Bowers, 
blankly.  "  But  —  look  here,  Bob  !  Do  you 
mean  to  say  it  was  your  mother  —  your 
mother,  Bob,  who  wrote  that  poem?  Are 
you  sure  ?  " 

"  D'  ye  think  I  'm  lyin'  ?  "  said  Bob,  scorn- 
fully. "  Don't  /  know  ?  Don't  I  copy  'em 
out  plain  for  her,  so  as  folks  won't  know 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.    65 

her  handwrite  ?  Go  'way !  you  're  loony !  " 
Then,  possibly  doubting  if  this  latter  ex- 
pression were  strictly  diplomatic  with  the 
business  in  hand,  he  added,  in  half -reproach, 
half-apology,  "  Don't  ye  see  I  don't  want  ye 
to  be  fooled  into  losin'  yer  chance  o'  buying 
up  that  Summit  wood  ?  It 's  the  cold  truth 
I  'm  tellin'  ye." 

Mr.  Bowers  no  longer  doubted  it.  Dis- 
appointed as  he  undoubtedly  was  at  first,  — 
and  even  self-deceived,  —  he  recognized  in  a 
flash  the  grim  fact  that  the  boy  had  stated. 
He  recalled  the  apparition  of  the  sad-faced 
woman  in  the  wood  —  her  distressed  manner, 
that  to  his  inexperienced  mind  now  took 
upon  itself  the  agitated  trembling  of  dis- 
turbed mystic  inspiration.  A  sense  of  sad- 
ness and  remorse  succeeded  his  first  shock 
of  disappointment. 

"  Well,  are  ye  going  to  buy  the  woods  ?  " 
said  Bob,  eying  him  grimly.  "  Ye  'd  better 
say." 

Mr.  Bowers  started.  "  I  should  n't  won- 
der, Bob,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  gathering 
up  his  reins.  "  Anyhow,  I  'm  comin'  back 
to  see  your  mother  this  afternoon.  And 
meantime,  Bob,  you  keep  the  first  chance  for 
me." 


66     A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

He  drove  away,  leaving  the  youthful  diplo- 
matist standing  with  his  bare  feet  in  the  dust. 
For  a  minute  or  two  the  young  gentleman 
amused  himself  by  a  few  light  saltatory  steps 
in  the  road.  Then  a  smile  of  scornful  supe- 
riority, mingled  perhaps  with  a  sense  of  pre- 
vious slights  and  unappreciation,  drew  back 
his  little  upper  lip,  and  brightened  his  mot- 
tled cheek. 

"  I  'd  like  ter  know,"  he  said,  darkly, 
"  what  this  yer  God-forsaken  f amerly  would 
do  without  me  !  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

IT  is  to  be  presumed  that  the  editor  and 
Mr.  Hamlin  mutually  kept  to  their  tacit 
agreement  to  respect  the  impersonality  of 
the  poetess,  for  during  the  next  three 
months  the  subject  was  seldom  alluded  to 
by  either.  Yet  in  that  period  White  Violet 
had  sent  two  other  contributions,  and  on 
each  occasion  Mr.  Hamlin  had  insisted  upon 
increasing  the  honorarium  to  the  amount  of 
his  former  gift.  In  vain  the  editor  pointed 
out  the  danger  of  this  form  of  munificence ; 
Mr.  Hamlin  retorted  by  saying  that  if  he 
refused  he  would  appeal  to  the  proprietor, 
who  certainly  would  not  object  to  taking  the 
credit  of  this  liberality.  "  As  to  the  risks," 
concluded  Jack,  sententiously,  "  I  '11  take 
them ;  and  as  far  as  you  're  concerned,  you 
certainly  get  the  worth  of  your  money." 

Indeed,  if  popularity  was  an  indiction,  this 
had  become  suddenly  true.  For  the  poet- 
ess's third  contribution,  without  changing 
its  strong  local  color  and  individuality,  had 


68    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

been  an  unexpected  outburst  of  human  pas- 
sion—  a  love-song,  that  touched  those  to 
whom  the  subtler  meditative  graces  of  the 
poetess  had  been  unknown.  Many  people 
had  listened  to  this  impassioned  but  despair- 
ing cry  from  some  remote  and  charmed  soli- 
tude, who  had  never  read  poetry  before,  who 
translated  it  into  their  own  limited  vocab- 
ulary and  more  limited  experience,  and  were 
inexpressibly  affected  to  find  that  they,  too, 
understood  it ;  it  was  caught  up  and  echoed 
by  the  feverish,  adventurous,  and  unsatisfied 
life  that  filled  that  day  and  time.  Even  the 
editor  was  surprised  and  frightened.  Like 
most  cultivated  men,  he  distrusted  popular- 
ity^ like  all  men  who  believe  in  their  own 
individual  judgment,  he  doubted  collective 
wisdom.  Yet  now  that  la.s  protegee  had  been 
accepted  by  others,  he  questioned  that  judg- 
ment and  became  her  critic.  It  struck  him 
that  her  sudden  outburst  was  strained;  it 
seemed  to  him  that  in  this  mere  contortion 
of  passion  the  sibyl's  robe  had  become  rudely 
disarranged.  He  spoke  to  Hamlin,  and  even 
approached  the  tabooed  subject. 

"  Did  you  see  anything  that  suggested  this 
sort  of  business  in  —  in  —  that  woman  —  I 
mean  in  —  your  pilgrimage,  Jack  ?  " 


A  SAPPHO    OF   GREEN  SPRINGS.          69 

"No,"  responded  Jack,  gravely.  "But 
it 's  easy  to  see  she 's  got  hold  of  some  hay- 
footed  fellow  up  there  in  the  mountains 
with  straws  in  his  hair,  and  is  playing  him 
for  all  he  's  worth.  You  won't  get  much 
more  poetry  out  of  her,  I  reckon." 

Is  was  not  long  after  this  conversation 
that  one  afternoon,  when  the  editor  was 
alone,  Mr.  James  Bowers  entered  the  edi- 
torial room  with  much  of  the  hesitation  and 
irresolution  of  his  previous  visit.  As  the 
editor  had  not  only  forgotten  him,  but  even 
dissociated  him  with  the  poetess,  Mr.  Bowers 
was  fain  to  meet  his  unresponsive  eye  and 
manner  with  some  explanation. 

"Ye  disremember  my  comin'  here,  Mr. 
Editor,  to  ask  you  the  name  o'  the  lady  who 
called  herself  l  White  Violet,'  and  how  you 
allowed  you  could  n't  give  it,  but  would 
write  and  ask  for  it?  " 

Mr.  Editor,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  now 
remembered  the  occurrence,  but  was  dis- 
tressed to  add  that  the  situation  remained 
unchanged,  and  that  he  had  received  no  such 
permission. 

"Never  mind  that,  my  lad,"  said  Mr. 
Bowers,  gravely,  waving  his  hand.  "  I  un- 
derstand all  that ;  but,  ez  I  've  known  the 


70          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

lady  ever  since,  and  am  now  visiting  her  at 
her  house  on  the  Summit,  I  reckon  it  don't 
make  much  matter." 

It  was  quite  characteristic  of  Mr.  Bowers's 
smileless  earnestness  that  he  made  no  osten- 
tation of  this  dramatic  retort,  nor  of  the 
undisguised  stupefaction  of  the  editor. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  met 
White  Violet,  the  author  of  these  poems?" 
repeated  the  editor. 

"  Which  her  name  is  Delatour,  —  the 
widder  Delatour,  —  ez  she  has  herself  give 
me  permission  to  tell  you,"  continued  Mr. 
Bowers,  with  a  certain  abstracted  and  auto- 
matic precision  that  dissipated  any  sugges- 
tion of  malice  in  the  reversed  situation. 

"  Delatour !  —  a  widow  !  "  repeated  the 
editor. 

"With  five  children,"  continued  Mr. 
Bowers.  Then,  with  unalterable  gravity,  he 
briefly  gave  an  outline  of  her  condition  and 
the  circumstances  of  his  acquaintance  with 
her. 

"  But  I  reckoned  you  might  have  known 
suthin'  o'  this ;  though  she  never  let  on  you 
did,"  he  concluded,  eying  the  editor  with 
troubled  curiosity. 

The  editor  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.    71 

implicate  Mr.  Hamlin.  He  said,  briefly, 
"I?  Oh,  no!" 

"  Of  course,  you  might  not  have  seen 
her  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bowers,  keeping  the  same 
grave,  troubled  gaze  on  the  editor. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  editor,  some- 
what impatient  under  the  singular  scrutiny 
of  Mr.  Bowers  ;  "  and  I  'm  very  anxious  to 
know  how  she  looks.  Tell  me,  what  is  she 
like?" 

"  She  is  a  fine,  pow'ful,  eddicated  woman," 
said  Mr.  Bowers,  with  slow  deliberation. 
44  Yes,  sir,  —  a  pow'f ul  woman,  havin'  grand 
ideas  of  her  own,  and  holdin'  to  'em."  He 
had  withdrawn  his  eyes  from  the  editor,  and 
apparently  addressed  the  ceiling  in  confi- 
dence. 

44  But  what  does  she  look  like,  Mr.  Bow- 
ers.? "  said  the  editor,  smiling. 

44  Well,  sir,  she  looks  —  like  —  it !  Yes," 
—  with  deliberate  caution,  — 4t  I  should  say, 
just  like  it." 

After  a  pause,  apparently  to  allow  the 
editor  to  materialize  this  ravishing  descrip- 
tion, he  said,  gently,  "  Are  you  busy  just 
now?" 

44  Not  very.     What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

44  Well,  not  much  for  m e,  I  reckon,"  he 


72    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

returned,  with  a  deeper  respiration,  that  was 
his  nearest  approach  to  a  sigh,  "  but  suthin' 
perhaps  for  yourself  and  —  another.  Are 
you  married  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  editor,  promptly. 

"  Nor  engaged  to  any  —  young  lady  ?  "  — 
with  great  politeness. 

"No." 

"  Well,  mebbe  you  think  it  a  queer  thing 
for  me  to  say,  —  mebbe  you  reckon  you 
know  it  ez  well  ez  anybody,  —  but  it 's  my 
opinion  that  White  Violet  is  in  love  with 
you." 

"  With  me  ?  "  ejaculated  the  editor,  in  a 
hopeless  astonishment  that  at  last  gave  way 
to  an  incredulous  and  irresistible  laugh. 

A  slight  touch  of  pain  passed  over  Mr. 
Bowers's  dejected  face,  but  left  the  deep  out- 
lines set  with  a  rude  dignity.  "  It 's  so,"  he 
said,  slowly,  "  though,  as  a  young  man  and 
a  gay  feller,  ye  may  think  it 's  funny." 

"  No,  not  funny,  but  a  terrible  blunder, 
Mr.  Bowers,  for  I  give  you  my  word  I  know 
nothing  of  the  lady  and  have  never  set  eyes 
upon  her." 

"  No,  but  she  has  on  you.  I  can't  say," 
continued  Mr.  Bowers,  with  sublime  naivete, 
"  that  I  'd  ever  recognize  you  from  her  de- 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.    73 

scription,  but  a  woman  o'  that  kind  don't 
see  with  her  eyes  like  you  and  me,  but  with 
all  her  senses  to  onct,  and  a  heap  more  that 
ain't  senses  as  we  know  'em.  The  same* 
eyes  that  seed  down  through  the  brush  and 
ferns  in  the  Summit  woods,  the  same  ears 
that  heerd  the  music  of  the  wind  trailin' 
through  the  pines,  don't  see  you  with  my 
eyes  or  hear  you  with  my  ears.  And  when 
she  paints  you,  it 's  nat'ril  for  a  woman  with 
that  pow'ful  mind  and  grand  idees  to  dip 
her  brush  into  her  heart's  blood  for  warmth 
and  color.  Yer  smitin',  young  man.  Well, 
go  on  and  smile  at  me,  my  lad,  but  not  at 
her.  For  you  don't  know  her.  When  you 
know  her  story  as  I  do,  when  you  know  she 
was  made  a  wife  afore  she  ever  knew  what  it 
was  to  be  a  young  woman,  when  you  know 
that  the  man  she  married  never  understood 
the  kind  o'  critter  he  was  tied  to  no  more 
than  ef  he  'd  been  a  steer  yoked  to  a  Morgan 
colt,  when  ye  know  she  had  children  growin' 
up  around  her  afore  she  had  given  over  bein' 
a  sort  of  child  herself,  when  ye  know  she 
worked  and  slaved  for  that  man  and  those 
children  about  the  house  —  her  heart,  her 
soul,  and  all  her  pow'ful  mind  bein'  all  the 
time  in  the  woods  along  with  the  flickerin' 


74          A  SAPPHO   OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

leaves  and  the  shadders,  —  when  ye  mind 
she  could  n't  get  the  small  ways  o'  the  ranch 
because  she  had  the  big  ways  o'  Natur'  that 
'made  it,  —  then  you  '11  understand  her." 

Impressed  by  the  sincerity  of  his  visitor's 
manner,  touched  by  the  unexpected  poetry 
of  his  appeal,  and  yet  keenly  alive  to  the 
absurdity  of  an  incomprehensible  blunder 
somewhere  committed,  the  editor  gasped  al- 
most hysterically,  — 

"  But  why  should  all  this  make  her  in 
love  with  me  ?  " 

"  Because  ye  are  both  gifted,"  returned 
Mr.  Bowers,  with  sad  but  unconquerable 
conviction ;  "  because  ye  're  both,  so  to  speak, 
in  a  line  o'  idees  and  business  that  draws  ye 
together,  —  to  lean  on  each  other  and  trust 
each  other  ez  pardners.  Not  that  ye  are 
ezakly  her  ekal,"  he  went  on,  with  a  return 
to  his  previous  exasperating  naivete,  "  though 
I  Ve  heerd  promisin'  things  of  ye,  and  ye  're 
still  young,  but  in  matters  o'  this  kind  there 
is  allers  one  ez  hez  to  be  looked  up  to  by  the 
other,  —  and  gin' rally  the  wrong  one.  She 
looks  up  to  you,  Mr.  Editor,  —  it 's  part  of  her 
po'try,  —  ez  she  looks  down  inter  the  brush 
and  sees  more  than  is  plain  to  you  and  me. 
Not,"  he  continued,  with  a  courteously  depre- 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.    75 

eating  wave  of  the  hand,  "  ez  you  hain't  bin 
kind  to  her  —  mebbe  too  kind.  For  thar  's 
the  purty  letter  you  writ  her,  thar 's  the  per- 
lite,  easy,  captivatin'  way  you  had  with  her 
gals  and  that  boy  —  hold  on  !  "  -  as  the 
editor  made  a  gesture  of  despairing  renunci- 
ation, —  "I  ain't  say  in'  you  ain't  right  in 
keepin'  it  to  yourself,  —  and  thar 's  the  ex- 
try  money  you  sent  her  every  time.  Stop ! 
she  knows  it  was  extry,  for  she  made  a  p'int 
o'  gettin'  me  to  find  out  the  market  price  o' 
po'try  in  papers  and  magazines,  and  she 
reckons  you  've  bin  payin'  her  four  hundred 
per  cent,  above  them  figgers  —  hold  on !  I 
ain't  sayin'  it  ain't  free  and  liberal  in  you, 
and  I  'd  have  done  the  same  thing ;  yet  she 
thinks  "  — 

But  the  editor  had  risen  hastily  to  his  feet 
with  flushing  cheeks. 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Bowers,"  he  said, 
hurriedly.  "  This  is  the  most  dreadful 
blunder  of  all.  The  gift  is  not  mine.  It 
was  the  spontaneous  offering  of  another  who 
really  admired  our  friend's  work,  —  a  gen- 
tleman who  "  —  He  stopped  suddenly. 

The  sound  of  a  familiar  voice,  lightly 
humming,  was  borne  along  the  passage ;  the 
light  tread  of  a  familiar  foot  was  approach- 


76    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

ing.  The  editor  turned  quickly  towards  the 
open  door,  —  so  quickly  that  Mr.  Bowers 
was  fain  to  turn  also. 

For  a  charming  instant  the  figure  of  Jack 
Hamlin,  handsome,  careless,  and  confident, 
was  framed  in  the  doorway.  His  dark  eyes, 
with  their  habitual  scorn  of  his  average 
fellow-man,  swept  superciliously  over  Mr. 
Bowers,  and  rested  for  an  instant  with  caress- 
ing familiarity  on  the  editor. 

"  Well,  sonny,  any  news  from  the  old  girl 
at  the  Summit?" 

"No-o,"  hastily  stammered  the  editor, 
with  a  half-hysterical  laugh.  "  No,  Jack. 
Excuse  me  a  moment." 

"  All  right ;  busy,  I  see.    Hasta  manana." 

The  picture  vanished,  the  frame  was 
empty. 

"  You  see,"  continued  the  editor,  turning 
to  Mr.  Bowers,  "  there  has  been  a  mistake. 
I "  —  but  he  stopped  suddenly  at  the  ashen 
face  of  Mr.  Bowers,  still  fixed  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  vanished  figure. 

"Are  you  ill?" 

Mr.  Bowers  did  not  reply,  but  slowly  with- 
drew his  eyes,  and  turned  them  heavily  on 
the  editor.  Then,  drawing  a  longer,  deeper 
breath,  he  picked  up  his  soft  felt  hat,  and, 


A  SAPPHO   OF   GREEN  SPRINGS.        77 

moulding  it  into  shape  in  his  hands  as  if 
preparing  to  put  it  on,  he  moistened  his  dry, 
grayish  lips,  and  said,  gently :  — 

" Friend  o'  yours?" 

*'  Yes,"  said  the  editor  —  u  Jack  Hamlin. 
Of  course,  you  know  him  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Mr.  Bowers  here  put  his  hat  on  his  head, 
and,  after  a  pause,  turned  round  slowly  once 
or  twice,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  it,  and  was 
still  seeking  it.  Finally  he  succeeded  in 
finding  the  editor's  hand,  and  shook  it,  albeit 
his  own  trembled  slightly.  Then  he  said  :  — 

"  I  reckon  you  're  right.  There 's  bin  a 
mistake.  I  see  it  now.  Good-by.  If  you  're 
ever  up  my  way,  drop  in  and  see  me."  He 
then  walked  to  the  doorway,  passed  out,  and 
seemed  to  melt  into  the  afternoon  shadows 
of  the  hall. 

He  never  again  entered  the  office  of  the 
"  Excelsior  Magazine,"  neither  was  any  fur- 
ther contribution  ever  received  from  White 
Violet.  To  a  polite  entreaty  from  the  edi- 
tor, addressed  first  to  "  White  Violet "  and 
then  to  Mrs.  Delatour,  there  was  no  re- 
sponse. The  thought  of  Mr.  Hamlin's  cyni- 
cal prophecy  disturbed  him,  but  that  gentle- 
man, preoccupied  in  filling  some  professional 


78    A  SAPPHO  OF  GRE'EN  SPRINGS. 

engagements  in  Sacramento,  gave  him  no 
chance  to  acquire  further  explanations  as  to 
the  past  or  the  future.  The  youthful  editor 
was  at  first  in  despair  and  filled  with  a  vague 
remorse  of  some  unfulfilled  duty.  But,  to 
his  surprise,  the  readers  of  the  magazine 
seemed  to  survive  their  talented  contributor, 
and  the  feverish  life  that  had  been  thrilled 
by  her  song,  in  two  months  had  apparently 
forgotten  her.  Nor  was  her  voice  lifted 
from  any  alien  quarter  ;  the  domestic  and  for- 
eign press  that  had  echoed  her  lays  seemed 
to  respond  no  longer  to  her  utterance. 

It  is  possible  that  some  readers  of  these 
pages  may  remember  a  previous  chronicle 
by  the  same  historian  wherein  it  was  recorded 
that  the  volatile  spirit  of  Mr.  Hamlin, 
slightly  assisted  by  circumstances,  passed 
beyond  these  voices  at  the  Ranch  of  the 
Blessed  Fisherman,  some  two  years  later. 
As  the  editor  stood  beside  the  body  of  his 
friend  on  the  morning  of  the  funeral,  he 
noticed  among  the  flowers  laid  upon  his  bier 
by  loving  hands  a  wreath  of  white  violets. 
Touched  and  disturbed  by  a  memory  long 
since  forgotten,  he  was  further  embarrassed, 
as  the  cortege  dispersed  in  the  Mission  grave- 
yard, by  the  apparition  of  the  tall  figure  of 


A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS.     79 

Mr.  James  Bowers  from  behind  a  monu- 
mental column.  The  editor  turned  to  him 
quickly. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  here,"  he  said, 
awkwardly,  and  he  knew  not  why;  then, 
after  a  pause,  "I  trust  you  can  give  me 
some  news  of  Mrs.  Delatour.  I  wrote  to 
her  nearly  two  years  ago,  but  had  no  re- 
sponse." 

"  Thar  's  bin  no  Mrs.  Delatour  for  two 
years,"  said  Mr.  Bowers,  contemplatively 
stroking  his  beard ;  "  and  mebbe  that 's  why. 
She  's  bin  for  two  years  Mrs.  Bowers." 

"I  congratulate  you,"  said  the  editor; 
"but  I  hope  there  still  remains  a  White 
Violet,  and  that,  for  the  sake  of  literature, 
she  has  not  given  up  " 

"Mrs.  Bowers,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bowers, 
with  singular  deliberation,  "  found  that  mak- 
in'  po'try  and  tendin'  to  the  cares  of  a  grow- 
in'-up  famerly  was  irritatin'  to  the  narves. 
They  did  n't  jibe,  so  to  speak.  What  Mrs. 
Bowers  wanted  —  and  what,  po'try  or  no 
po'try,  I  've  bin  tryin'  to  give  her  —  was 
Rest !  She  's  bin  havin'  it  comfor'bly  up  at 
my  ranch  at  Mendocino,  with  her  children 
and  me.  Yes,  sir  "  —  his  eye  wandered  ac- 
cidentally to  the  new-made  grave  —  "  you  '11 


80    A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS. 

excuse  my  sayin'  it  to  a  man  in  your  profes- 
sion, but  it 's  what  most  folks  will  find  is  a 
heap  better  than  readin'  or  writin'  or  actin' 
po'try  —  and  that 's  —  Rest !  " 


THE  CHATELAINE  OF  BURNT 
RIDGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  had  grown  dark  on  Burnt  Ridge. 
Seen  from  below,  the  whole  serrated  crest 
that  had  glittered  in  the  sunset  as  if  its  in- 
terstices were  eaten  by  consuming  fires,  now 
closed  up  its  ranks  of  blackened  shafts  and 
became  again  harsh  and  sombre  chevaux  de 
frise  against  the  sky.  A  faint  glow  still 
lingered  over  the  red  valley  road,  as  if  it 
were  its  own  reflection,  rather  than  any 
light  from  beyond  the  darkened  ridge. 
Night  was  already  creeping  up  out  of  re- 
mote canons  and  along  the  furrowed  flanks 
of  the  mountain,  or  settling  on  the  nearer 
woods  with  the  sound  of  home-coming  and 
innumerable  wings.  At  a  point  where  the 
road  began  to  encroach  upon  the  mountain- 
side in  its  slow  winding  ascent  the  darkness 
had  become  so  real  that  a  young  girl  canter- 


82      THE   CHATELAINE  OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

ing  along  the  rising  terrace  found  difficulty 
in  guiding  her  horse,  with  eyes  still  dazzled 
by  the  sunset  fires. 

In  spite  of  her  precautions,  the  animal 
suddenly  shied  at  some  object  in  the  ob- 
scured roadway,  and  nearly  unseated  her. 
The  accident  disclosed  not  only  the  fact  that 
she  was  riding  in  a  man's  saddle,  but  also  a 
foot  and  ankle  that  her  ordinary  walking- 
dress  was  too  short  to  hide.  It  was  evident 
that  her  equestrian  exercise  was  extempore, 
and  that  at  that  hour  and  on  that  road  she 
had  not  expected  to  meet  company.  But  she 
was  apparently  a  good  horsewoman,  for  the 
mischance  which  might  have  thrown  a  less 
practical  or  more  timid  rider  seemed  of  lit- 
tle moment  to  her.  With  a  strong  hand 
and  determined  gesture  she  wheeled  her 
frightened  horse  back  into  the  track,  and 
rode  him  directly  at  the  object.  But  here 
she  herself  slightly  recoiled,  for  it  was  the 
body  of  a  man  lying  in  the  road. 

As  she  leaned  forward  over  her  horse's 
shoulder,  she  could  see  by  the  dim  light  that 
he  was  a  miner,  and  that,  though  motionless, 
he  was  breathing  stertorously.  Drunk,  no 
doubt !  —  an  accident  of  the  locality  alarm- 
ing only  to  her  horse.  But  although  she 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.      83 

cantered  impatiently  forward,  she  had  not 
proceeded  a  hundred  yards  before  she 
stopped  reflectively,  and  trotted  back  again. 
He  had  not  moved.  She  could  now  see  that 
his  head  and  shoulders  were  covered  with 
broken  clods  of  earth  and  gravel,  and 
smaller  fragments  lay  at  his  side.  A  dozen 
feet  above  him  on  the  hillside  there  was  a 
foot  trail  which  ran  parallel  with  the  bridle- 
road,  and  occasionally  overhung  it.  It 
seemed  possible  that  he  might  have  fallen 
from  the  trail  and  been  stunned. 

Dismounting,  she  succeeded  in  dragging 
him  to  a  safer  position  by  the  bank.  The 
act  discovered  his  face,  which  was  young, 
and  unknown  to  her.  Wiping  it  with  the 
silk  handkerchief  which  was  loosely  slung 
around  his  neck  after  the  fashion  of  his  class, 
she  gave  a  quick  feminine  glance  around  her 
and  then  approached  her  own  and  rather 
handsome  face  near  his  lips.  There  was  no 
odor  of  alcohol  in  the  thick  and  heavy  res- 
piration. Mounting  again,  she  rode  forward 
at  an  accelerated  pace,  and  in  twenty 
minutes  had  reached  a  higher  tableland  of 
the  mountain,  a  cleared  opening  in  the  forest 
that  showed  signs  of  careful  cultivation,  and 
a  large,  rambling,  yet  picturesque-looking 


84      THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

dwelling,  whose  unpainted  red-wood  walls 
were  hidden  in  roses  and  creepers.  Pushing 
open  a  swinging  gate,  she  entered  the  in- 
closure  as  a  brown-faced  man,  dressed  as  a 
vaqnero,  came  towards  her  as  if  to  assist 
her  to  alight.  But  she  had  already  leaped 
to  the  ground  and  thrown  him  the  reins. 

"Miguel,"  she  said,  with  a  mistress's 
quiet  authority  in  her  boyish  contralto  voice, 
"  put  Glory  in  the  covered  wagon,  and  drive 
down  the  road  as  far  as  the  valley  turning. 
There  's  a  man  lying  near  the  right  bank, 
drunk,  or  sick,  may  be,  or  perhaps  crippled 
by  a  fall.  Bring  him  up  here,  unless  some- 
body has  found  him  already,  or  you  happen 
to  know  who  he  is  and  where  to  take  him." 

The  vaquero  raised  his  shoulders,  half  in 
disappointed  expectation  of  some  other  com- 
mand. "  And  your  brother,  senora,  he  has 
not  himself  arrived." 

A  light  shadow  of  impatience  crossed  her 
face.  "  No,"  she  said,  bluntly.  "  Come,  be 
quick." 

She  turned  towards  the  house  as  the  man 
moved  away.  Already  a  gaunt-looking  old 
man  had  appeared  in  the  porch,  and  was 
awaiting  her  with  his  hand  shadowing  his 
angry,  suspicious  eyes,  and  his  lips  moving 
querulously. 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.     85 

"  Of  course,  you  Ve  got  to  stand  out 
there  and  give  orders  and  'tend  to  your  own 
business  afore  you  think  o'  speaking  to  your 
own  flesh  and  blood,"  he  said  aggrievedly. 
"  That 's  all  you  care  !  " 

"  There  was  a  sick  man  lying  in  the  road, 
and  I  Ve  sent  Miguel  to  look  after  him,"  re- 
turned the  girl,  with  a  certain  contemptuous 
resignation. 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  struck  in  another  voice,  which 
seemed  to  belong  to  the  female  of  the  first 
speaker's  species,  and  to  be  its  equal  in  age 
and  temper,  "  and  I  reckon  you  saw  a  jay 
bird  on  a  tree,  or  a  squirrel  on  the  fence, 
and  either  of  'em  was  more  important  to 
you  than  your  own  brother." 

"  Steve  did  n't  come  by  the  stage,  and 
didn't  send  any  message,"  continued  the 
young  girl,  with  the  same  coldly  resigned 
manner.  "No  one  had  any  news  of  him, 
and,  as  I  told  you  before,  I  did  n't  expect 
any." 

"  Why  don't  you  say  right  out  you  did  n't 
want  any  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  sneeringly. 
"  Much  you  inquired  !  No  ;  I  orter  hev 
gone  myself,  and  I  would  if  I  was  master 
here,  instead  of  me  and  your  mother  bein' 
the  dust  of  the  y earth  beneath  your  feet." 


86     THE  CHATELAINE  OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

The  young  girl  entered  the  house,  fol- 
lowed by  the  old  man,  passing  an  old  woman 
seated  by  the  window,  who  seemed  to  be 
nursing  her  resentment  and  a  large  Bible 
which  she  held  clasped  against  her  shawled 
bosom  at  the  same  moment.  Going  to  the 
wall,  she  hung  up  her  large  hat  and  slightly 
shook  the  red  dust  from  her  skirts  as  she 
continued  her  explanation,  in  the  same  deep 
voice,  with  a  certain  monotony  of  logic  and 
possibly  of  purpose  and  practice  also. 

"  You  and  mother  know  as  well  as  I  do, 
father,  that  Stephen  is  no  more  to  be  de- 
pended upon  than  the  wind  that  blows.  It 's 
three  years  since  he  has  been  promising  to 
come,  and  even  getting  money  to  come,  and 
yet  he  has  never  showed  his  face,  though  he 
has  been  a  dozen  times  within  five  miles  of 
this  house.  He  doesn't  come  because  he 
does  n't  want  to  come.  As  to  your  going 
over  to  the  stage-office,  I  went  there  myself 
at  the  last  moment  to  save  you  the  mortifi- 
cation of  asking  questions  of  strangers  that 
they  know  have  been  a  dozen  times  answered 
already." 

There  was  such  a  ring  of  absolute  truth- 
fulness, albeit  worn  by  repetition,  in  the 
young  girl's  deep  honest  voice  that  for  one 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.     87 

instant  her  two  more  emotional  relatives 
quailed  before  it ;  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  That 's  right !  "  shrilled  the  old  woman. 
"  Go  on  and  abuse  your  own  brother.  It 's 
only  the  fear  you  have  that  he  '11  make  his 
fortune  yet  and  shame  you  before  the  father 
and  mother  you  despise." 

The  young  girl  remained  standing  by  the 
window,  motionless  and  apparently  passive, 
as  if  receiving  an  accepted  and  usual  pun- 
ishment. But  here  the  elder  woman  gave 
way  to  sobs  and  some  incoherent  snuffling, 
at  which  the  younger  went  away.  Whether 
she  recognized  in  her  mother's  tears  the  or- 
dinary deliquescence  of  emotion,  or  whether, 
as  a  woman  herself,  she  knew  that  this  mere 
feminine  conventionality  coidd  not  possibly 
be  directed  at  her,  and  that  the  actual  con- 
flict between  them  had  ceased,  she  passed 
slowly  on  to  an  inner  hall,  leaving  the  male 
victim,  her  unfortunate  father,  to  succumb, 
as  he  always  did  sooner  or  later,  to  their  in- 
fluence. Crossing  the  hall,  which  was  deco- 
rated with  a  few  elk  horns,  Indian  trophies, 
and  mountain  pelts,  she  entered  another 
room,  and  closed  the  door  behind  her  with  a 
gesture  of  relief. 

The  room,  which   looked  upon  a  porch, 


88     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

presented  a  singular  combination  of  mascu- 
line business  occupations  and  feminine  taste 
and  adornment.  A  desk  covered  with 
papers,  a  shelf  displaying  a  ledger  and  ac- 
count-books, another  containing  works  of 
reference,  a  table  with  a  vase  of  flowers  and 
a  lady's  riding-whip  upon  it,  a  map  of  Cali- 
fornia flanked  on  either  side  by  an  embroid- 
ered silken  workbag  and  an  oval  mirror 
decked  with  grasses,  a  calendar  and  interest- 
table  hanging  below  two  school-girl  crayons 
of  classic  heads  with  the  legend,  "  Josephine 
Forsyth  fecit"  -  -  were  part  of  its  incongru- 
ous accessories.  The  young  girl  went  to  her 
desk,  but  presently  moved  and  turned 
towards  the  window  thoughtfully.  The  last 
gleam  had  died  from  the  steel-blue  sky ;  a 
few  lights  like  star  points  began  to  prick  out 
the  lower  valley.  The  expression  of  monot- 
onous restraint  and  endurance  had  not  yet 
faded  from  her  face. 

Yet  she  had  been  accustomed  to  scenes 
like  the  one  she  had  just  passed  through 
since  her  girlhood.  Five  years  ago,  Alexan- 
der Forsyth,  her  uncle,  had  brought  her  to 
this  spot  —  then  a  mere  log  cabin  on  the 
hillside  —  as  a  refuge  from  the  impoverished 
and  shiftless  home  of  his  elder  brother 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.     89 

Thomas  and  his  ill-tempered  wife.  Here 
Alexander  Forsyth,  by  reason  of  his  more 
dominant  character  and  business  capacity, 
had  prospered  until  he  became  a  rich  and 
influential  ranch  owner.  Notwithstanding 
her  father's  jealousy  of  Alexander's  fortune, 
and  the  open  rupture  that  followed  between 
the  brothers,  Josephine  retained  her  position 
in  the  heart  and  home  of  her  uncle  without 
espousing  the  cause  of  either ;  and  her  fa- 
ther was  too  prudent  not  to  recognize  the 
near  and  prospective  advantages  of  such  a 
mediator.  Accustomed  to  her  parents'  ex- 
travagant denunciations,  and  her  uncle's 
more  repressed  but  practical  contempt  of 
them,  the  unfortunate  girl  early  developed 
a  cynical  disbelief  in  the  virtues  of  kinship 
in  the  abstract,  and  a  philosophical,  resigna- 
tion to  its  effects  upon  her  personally.  Be- 
lieving that  her  father  and  uncle  fairly  rep- 
resented the  fraternal  principle,  she  was 
quite  prepared  for  the  early  defection  and 
distrust  of  her  vagabond  and  dissipated 
brother  Stephen,  and  accepted  it  calmly. 
True  to  an  odd  standard  of  justice,  which 
she  had  erected  from  the  crumbling  ruins  of 
her  own  domestic  life,  she  was  tolerant  of 
everything  but  human  perfection.  This 


90      THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

quality,  however  fatal  to  her  higher  growth, 
had  given  her  a  peculiar  capacity  for  busi- 
ness which  endeared  her  to  her  uncle. 
Familiar  with  the  strong  passions  and  preju- 
dices of  men,  she  had  none  of  those  feminine 
meannesses,  a  wholesome  distrust  of  which 
had  kept  her  uncle  a  bachelor.  It  was  not 
strange,  therefore,  that  when  he  died  two 
years  ago  it  was  found  that  he  had  left  her 
his  entire  property,  real  and  personal,  lim- 
ited only  by  a  single  condition.  She  was  to 
undertake  the  vocation  of  a  "  sole  trader," 
and  carry  on  the  business  under  the  name  of 
"J.  Forsyth."  If  she  married,  the  estate 
and  property  was  to  be  held  distinct  from 
her  husband's,  inalienable  under  the  "  Mar- 
ried Woman's  Property  Act,"  and  subject 
during  her  life  only  to  her  own  control  and 
personal  responsibilities  as  a  trader. 

The  intense  disgust  and  discomfiture  of 
her  parents,  who  had  expected  to  more 
actively  participate  in  their  brother's  for- 
tune, may  be  imagined.  But  it  was  not 
equal  to  their  fury  when  Josephine,  instead 
of  providing  for  them  a  separate  mainte- 
nance out  of  her  abundance,  simply  offered 
to  transfer  them  and  her  brother  to  her  own 
house  on  a  domestic  but  not  a  business 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.     91 

equality.  There  being  no  alternative  but 
their  former  precarious  shiftless  life  in  their 
"  played-out "  claim  in  the  valley,  they 
wisely  consented,  reserving  the  sacred  right 
of  daily  protest  and  objurgation.  In  the 
economy  of  Burnt  Ridge  Ranch  they  alone 
took  it  upon  themselves  to  represent  the 
shattered  domestic  altar  and  its  outraged 
Lares  and  Penates.  And  so  conscientiously 
did  they  perform  their  task  as  even  occa- 
sionally to  impede  the  business  visitor  to 
the  ranch,  and  to  cause  some  of  the  more 
practical  neighbors  seriously  to  doubt  the 
young  girl's  commercial  wisdom.  But  she 
was  firm.  Whether  she  thought  her  parents 
a  necessity  of  respectable  domesticity,  or 
whether  she  regarded  their  presence  in  the 
light  of  a  penitential  atonement  for  some 
previous  disregard  of  them,  no  one  knew. 
Public  opinion  inclined  to  the  latter. 

The  black  line  of  ridge  faded  out  with 
her  abstraction,  and  she  turned  from  the 
window  and  lit  the  lamp  on  her  desk.  The 
yellow  light  illuminated  her  face  and  figure. 
In  their  womanly  graces  there  was  no  trace 
of  what  some  people  believed  to  be  a  mas- 
culine character,  except  a  singularly  frank 
look  of  critical  inquiry  and  patient  atten- 


92     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

tion  in  her  dark  eyes.  Her  long  brown  hair 
was  somewhat  rigidly  twisted  into  a  knot  on 
the  top  of  her  head,  as  if  more  for  security 
than  ornament.  Brown  was  also  the  pre- 
vailing tint  of  her  eyebrows,  thickly-set  eye- 
lashes^ and  eyes,  and  was  even  suggested  in 
the  slight  sallowness  of  her  complexion. 
But  her  lips  were  well-cut  and  fresh-colored 
and  her  hands  and  feet  small  and  finely 
formed.  She  would  have  passed  for  a  pretty 
girl,  had  she  not  suggested  something  more. 
She  sat  down,  and  began  to  examine  a 
pile  of  papers  before  her  with  that  concen- 
tration and  attention  to  detail  which  was 
characteristic  of  her  eyes,  pausing  at  times 
with  prettily  knit  brows,  and  her  penholder 
between  her  lips,  in  the  semblance  of  a  pout 
that  was  pleasant  enough  to  see.  Suddenly 
the  rattle  of  hoofs  and  wheels  struck  her 
with  the  sense  of  something  forgotten,  and 
she  put  down  her  work  quickly  and  stood  up 
listening.  The  sound  of  rough  voices  and 
her  father's  querulous  accents  was  broken 
upon  by  a  cultivated  and  more  familiar  ut- 
terance :  "  All  right ;  I  '11  speak  to  her  at 
once.  Wait  there,"  and  the  door  opened  to 
the  well-known  physician  of  Burnt  Ridge, 
Dr,  Duchesne, 


THE   CHATELAINE    OF  BURNT  RIDGE.      93 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  with  an  abruptness 
that  was  only  saved  from  being  brusque  by 
a  softer  intonation  and  a  reassuring  smile, 
"  I  met  Miguel  helping  an  accident  into 
your  buggy.  Your  orders,  eh?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  "  said  Josephine,  quietly.  "  A 
man  I  saw  on  the  road." 

"  Well,  it 's  a  bad  case,  and  wants  prompt 
attention.  And  as  your  house  is  the  nearest 
I  came  with  him  here." 

"Certainly,"  she  said  gravely.  "Take 
him  to  the  second  room  beyond  —  Steve's 
room  —  it's  ready,"  she  explained  to  two 
dusky  shadows  in  the  hall  behind  the  doc- 
tor. 

"  And  look  here,"  said  the  doctor,  partly 
closing  the  door  behind  him  and  regarding 
her  with  critical  eyes,  "  you  always  said 
you'd  like  to  see  some  of  my  queer  cases. 
Well,  this  is  one  —  a  serious  one,  too  ;  in 
fact,  it 's  just  touch  and  go  with  him. 
There  's  a  piece  of  the  bone  pressing  on  the 
brain  no  bigger  than  that,  but  as  much  as  if 
all  Burnt  Ridge  was  atop  of  him  !  I  'm  go- 
ing to  lift  it.  I  want  somebody  here  to 
stand  by,  some  one  who  can  lend  a  hand 
with  a  sponge,  eh  ?  —  some  one  who  is  n't 
going  to  faint  or  scream,  or  even  shake  a 
hair's-breadth,  eh  ?  " 


94     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

The  color  rose  quickly  to  the  girl's  cheek, 
and  her  eyes  kindled.  "  I  '11  come,"  she 
said  thoughtfully.  "  Who  is  he  ?  " 

The  doctor  stared  slightly  at  the  unessen- 
tial query.  "  Don't  know,  —  one  of  the 
river  miners,  I  reckon.  It 's  an  urgent  case. 
I  '11  go  and  get  everything  ready.  You  'd 
better,"  he  added,  with  an  ominous  glance 
at  her  gray  frock,  "  put  something  over  your 
dress."  The  suggestion  made  her  grave, 
but  did  not  alter  her  color. 

A  moment  later  she  entered  the  room. 
It  was  the  one  that  had  always  been  set 
apart  for  her  brother:  the  very  bed  on 
which  the  unconscious  man  lay  had  been 
arranged  that  morning  with  her  own  hands. 
Something  of  this  passed  through  her  mind 
as  she  saw  that  the  doctor  had  wheeled  it 
beneath  the  strong  light  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  stripped  its  outer  coverings  with  pro- 
fessional thoughtfulness,  and  rearranged  the 
mattresses.  But  it  did  not  seem  like  the 
same  room.  There  was  a  pungent  odor  in 
the  air  from  some  freshly-opened  phial ;  an 
almost  feminine  neatness  and  luxury  in  an 
open  morocco  case  like  a  jewel  box  on  the 
table,  shining  with  spotless  steel.  At  the 
head  of  the  bed  one  of  her  own  servants, 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.     95 

the  powerful  mill  foreman,  was  assisting 
with  the  mingled  curiosity  and  blase  experi- 
ence of  one  accustomed  to  smashed  and  lac- 
erated digits.  At  first  she  did  not  look  at 
<the  central  unconscious  figure  on  the  bed, 
whose  sufferings  seemed  to  her  to  have  been 
vicariously  transferred  to  the  concerned, 
eager,  and  drawn  faces  that  looked  down 
upon  its  immunity.  Then  she  femininely 
recoiled  before  the  bared  white  neck  and 
shoulders  displayed  above  the  quilt,  until, 
forcing  herself  to  look  upon  the  face  half- 
concealed  by  bandages  and  the  head  from 
which  the  dark  tangles  of  hair  had  been 
ruthlessly  sheared,  she  began  to  share  the 
doctor's  unconcern  in  his  personality.  What 
mattered  who  or  what  he  was  ?  It  was  —  a 
case ! 

The  operation  began.  With  the  same 
earnest  intelligence  that  she  had  previously 
shown,  she  quickly  and  noiselessly  obeyed 
the  doctor's  whispered  orders,  and  even  half 
anticipated  them.  She  was  conscious  of  a 
singular  curiosity  that,  far  from  being  mean 
or  ignoble,  seemed  to  lift  her  not  only  above 
the  ordinary  weaknesses  of  her  own  sex,  but 
made  her  superior  to  the  men  around  her. 
Almost  before  she  knew  it,  the  operation 


96      THE  CHATELAINE  OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

was  over,  and  she  regarded  with  equal  curi- 
osity the  ostentatious  solicitude  with  which 
the  doctor  seemed  to  be  wiping  his  fateful 
instrument  that  bore  an  odd  resemblance  to 
a  silver-handled  centre-bit.  The  stertorous 
breathing  below  the  bandages  had  given  way 
to  a  fainter  but  more  natural  respiration. 
There  was  a  moment  of  suspense.  The  doc- 
tor's hand  left  the  pulse  and  lifted  the  closed 
eyelid  of  the  sufferer.  A  slight  movement 
passed  over  the  figure.  The  sluggish  face 
had  cleared;  life  seemed  to  struggle  back 
into  it  before  even  the  dull  eyes  participated 
in  the  glow.  Dr.  Duchesne  with  a  sudden 
gesture  waved  aside  his  companions,  but  not 
before  Josephine  had  bent  her  head  eagerly 
forward. 

"  He  is  coming  to,"  she  said. 

At  the  sound  of  that  deep  clear  voice  — 
the  first  to  break  the  hush  of  the  room  — 
the  dull  eyes  leaped  up,  and  the  head  turned 
in  its  direction.  The  lips  moved  and  uttered 
a  single  rapid  sentence.  The  girl  recoiled. 

"  You  're  all  right  now,"  said  the  doctor, 
cheerfully,  intent  only  upon  the  form  before 
him. 

The  lips  moved  again,  but  this  time  feebly 
and  vacantly  ;  the  eyes  were  staring  vaguely 
around. 


THE    C RAT ELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.     97 

"  What 's  matter  ?  What 's  all  about  ?  " 
said  the  man,  thickly. 

"  You  !ve  had  a  fall.  Think  a  moment. 
Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

Again  the  lips  moved,  but  this  time  only 
to  emit  a  confused,  incoherent  murmur.  Dr. 
Duchesne  looked  grave,  but  recovered  him- 
self quickly. 

"  That  will  do.  Leave  him  alone  now," 
he  said  brusquely  to  the  others. 

But  Josephine  lingered. 

"  He  spoke  well  enough  just  now,"  she 
said  eagerly.  "  Did  you  hear  what  he 
said?" 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  the  doctor,  abstract- 
edly, gazing  at  the  man. 

"He  said:  4  You'll  have  to  kill  me 
first,'  "  said  Josephine,  slowly. 

"  Humph ;  "  said  the  doctor,  passing  his 
hand  backwards  and  forwards  before  the 
man's  eyes  to  note  any  change  in  the  staring 
pupils. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Josephine,  gravely.  "  I 
suppose,"  she  added,  cautiously,  "he  was 
thinking  of  the  operation  —  of  what  you 
had  just  done  to  him  ?  " 

"  What  /  had  done  to  him  ?     Oh,  yes  1 " 


CHAPTER  II. 

BEFORE  noon  the  next  day  it  was  known 
throughout  Burnt  Ridge  Valley  that  Dr. 
Duchesne  had  performed  a  difficult  opera- 
tion upon  an  unknown  man,  who  had  been 
picked  up  unconscious  from  a  fall,  and  car- 
ried to  Burnt  Ridge  Ranch.  But  although 
the  unfortunate  man's  life  was  saved  by  the 
operation,  he  had  only  momentarily  recov- 
ered consciousness  —  relapsing  into  a  semi- 
idiotic  state,  which  effectively  stopped  the 
discovery  of  any  clue  to  his  friends  or  his 
identity.  As  it  was  evidently  an  accident, 
which,  in  that  rude  community  —  and  even 
in  some  more  civilized  ones  —  conveyed  a 
vague  impression  of  some  contributary  inca- 
pacity on  the  part  of  the  victim,  or  some 
Providential  interference  of  a  retributive 
character,  Burnt  Ridge  gave  itself  little 
trouble  about  it.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Forsyth  gave  themselves 
and  Josephine  much  more.  They  had  a 
theory  and  a  grievance.  Satisfied  from  the 


THE  CHATELAINE  OF  BURNT  RIDGE.      99 

first  that  the  alleged  victim  was  a  drunken 
tramp,  who  submitted  to  have  a  hole  bored 
in  his  head  in  order  to  foist  himself  upon  the 
ranch,  they  were  loud  in  their  protests,  even 
hinting  at  a  conspiracy  between  Josephine 
and  the  stranger  to  supplant  her  brother  in 
the  property,  as  he  had  already  in  the  spare 
bedroom.  "  Did  n't  all  that  yer  happen  the 
very  night  she  pretended  to  go  for  Stephen 
-  eh  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Forsyth.  "  Tell  me  that ! 
And  did  n't  she  have  it  all  arranged  with 
the  buggy  to  bring  him  here,  as  that  sneak- 
ing doctor  let  out —  eh  ?  Looks  mighty  cu- 
rious, don't  it?  "  she  muttered  darkly  to  the 
old  man.  But  although  that  gentleman,  even 
from  his  own  selfish  view,  would  scarcely 
have  submitted  to  a  surgical  operation  and 
later  idiocy  as  the  price  of  insuring  comfort- 
able dependency,  he  had  no  doubt  others 
were  base  enough  to  do  it ;  and  lent  a  will- 
ing ear  to  his  wife's  suspicions. 

Josephine's  personal  knowledge  of  the 
stranger  went  little  further.  Doctor  Du- 
chesne  had  confessed  to  her  his  professional 
disappointment  at  the  incomplete  results  of 
the  operation.  He  had  saved  the  man's  life, 
but  as  yet  not  his  reason.  There  was  still 
hope,  however,  for  the  diagnosis  revealed 


100     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

nothing  that  might  prejudice  a  favorable 
progress.  It  was  a  most  interesting  case. 
He  would  watch  it  carefully,  and  as  soon 
as  the  patient  could  be  removed  would  take 
him  to  the  county  hospital,  where,  under  his 
own  eyes,  the  poor  fellow  would  have  the 
benefit  of  the  latest  science  and  the  highest 
specialists.  Physically,  he  was  doing  remark- 
ably well ;  indeed,  he  must  have  been  a  fine 
young  chap,  free  from  blood  taint  or  vicious 
complication,  whose  flesh  had  healed  like 
an  infant's.  It  should  be  recorded  that  it 
was  at  this  juncture  that  Mrs.  For syth  first 
learnt  that  a  silver  plate  let  into  the  artful 
stranger's  skull  was  an  adjunct  of  the  heal- 
ing process  !  Convinced  that  this  infamous 
extravagance  was  part  and  parcel  of  the 
conspiracy,  and  was  only  the  beginning  of 
other  assimilations  of  the  Forsyths'  metallic 
substance  ;  that  the  plate  was  probably  pol- 
ished and  burnished  with  a  fulsome  inscrip- 
tion to  the  doctor's  skill,  and  would  pass  into 
the  possession  and  adornment  of  a  perfect 
stranger,  her  rage  knew  no  bounds.  He  or 
his  friends  ought  to  be  made  to  pay  for  it  or 
work  it  out !  In  vain  it  was  declared  that  a 
few  dollars  were  all  that  was  found  in  the 
man's  pocket,  and  that  no  memoranda  gave 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.     101 

any  indication  of  his  name,  friends,  or  his- 
tory beyond  the  suggestion  that  he  came 
from  a  distance.  This  was  clearly  a  part  of 
the  conspiracy  !  Even  Josephine's  practical 
good  sense  was  obliged  to  take  note  of  this 
singular  absence  of  all  record  regarding  him, 
and  the  apparent  obliteration  of  everything 
that  might  be  responsible  for  his  ultimate 
fate. 

Homeless,  friendless,  helpless,  and  even 
nameless,  the  unfortunate  man  of  twenty-five 
was  thus  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
mistress  of  Burnt  Ridge  Ranch,  as  if  he  had 
been  a  new-born  foundling  laid  at  her  door. 
But  this  mere  claim  of  weakness  was  not  all ; 
it  was  supplemented  by  a  singular  personal 
appeal  to  Josephine's  nature.  From  the 
time  that  he  turned  his  head  towards  her 
voice  on  that  fateful  night,  his  eyes  had 
always  followed  her  around  the  room  with 
a  wondering,  yearning,  canine  half-intelli- 
gence. Without  being  able  to  convince  her- 
self that  he  understood  her  better  than  his 
regular  attendant  furnished  by  the  doctor, 
she  could  not  fail  to  see  that  he  obeyed  her 
implicitly,  and  that  whenever  any  difficulty 
arose  between  him  and  his  nurse  she  was 
always  appealed  to.  Her  pride  in  this  proof 


102     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

of  her  practical  sovereignty  was  flattered ; 
and  when  Doctor  Duchesne  finally  admitted 
that  although  the  patient  was  now  physically 
able  to  be  removed  to  the  hospital,  yet  he 
would  lose  in  the  change  that  very  strong 
factor  which  Josephine  had  become  in  his 
mental  recovery,  the  young  girl  as  frankly 
suggested  that  he  should  stay  as  long  as  there 
was  any  hope  of  restoring  his  reason.  Doc- 
tor Duchesne  was  delighted.  With  all  his 
enthusiasm  for  science,  he  had  a  professional 
distrust  of  some  of  its  disciples,  and  perhaps 
was  not  sorry  to  keep  this  most  interesting 
case  in  his  own  hands.  To  him  her  sugges- 
tion was  only  a  womanly  kindness,  tempered 
with  womanly  curiosity.  But  the  astonish- 
ment and  stupefaction  of  her  parents  at  this 
evident  corroboration  of  suspicions  they  had 
as  yet  only  half  believed  was  tinged  with 
superstitious  dread.  Had  she  fallen  in  love 
with, this  helpless  stranger?  or,  more  awful 
to  contemplate,  was  he  really  no  stranger, 
but  a  surreptitious  lover  thus  strategically 
brought  under  her  roof  ?  For  once  they  re- 
frained from  open  criticism.  The  very  mag- 
nitude of  their  suspicions  left  them  dumb. 

It  was  thus  that  the  virgin  Chatelaine  of 
Burnt  Kidge  Kanch   was    left  to  gaze  un- 


THE  CHATELAINE  OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    103 

trammeled  upon  her  pale  and  handsome 
guest,  whose  silken,  bearded  lips  and  sad, 
childlike  eyes  might  have  suggested  a  more 
Exalted  Sufferer  in  their  absence  of  any 
suggestion  of  a  grosser  material  manhood. 
But  even  this  imaginative  appeal  did  not 
enter  into  her  feelings.  She  felt  for  her 
good-looking,  helpless  patient  a  profound 
and  honest  pity.  I  do  not  know  whether 
she  had  ever  heard  that  "  pity  was  akin  to 
love."  She  would  probably  have  resented 
that  utterly  untenable  and  atrocious  common- 
place. There  was  no  suggestion,  real  or  illu- 
sive, of  any  previous  masterful  quality  in  the 
man  which  might  have  made  his  present  de- 
pendent condition  picturesque  by  contrast. 
He  had  come  to  her  handicapped,  by  an 
unromantic  accident  and  a  practical  want  of 
energy  and  intellect,  He  would  have  to 
touch  her  interest  anew  if,  indeed,  he  would 
ever  succeed  in  dispelling  the  old  impression. 
His  beauty,  in  a  community  of  picturesquely 
handsome  men,  had  little  weight  with  her, 
except  to  accent  the  contrast  with  their  fuller 
manhood. 

Her  life  had  given  her  no  illusions  in  re- 
gard to  the  other  sex.  She  had  found  them, 
however,  more  congenial  and  safer  compan- 


104     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

ions  than  women,  and  more  accessible  to  her 
own  sense  of  justice  and  honor.  In  return, 
they  had  respected  and  admired  rather  than 
loved  her,  in  spite  of  her  womanly  graces. 
If  she  had  at  times  contemplated  eventual 
marriage,  it  was  only  as  a  possible  practical 
partnership  in  her  business ;  but  as  she  lived 
in  a  country  where  men  thought  it  dishonor- 
able and  a  proof  of  incompetency  to  rise  by 
their  wives'  superior  fortune,  she  had  been 
free  from  that  kind  of  mercenary  persecu- 
tion, even  from  men  who  might  have  wor- 
shiped her  in  hopeless  and  silent  honor. 

For  this  reason,  there  was  nothing  in  the 
situation  that  suggested  a  single  compromis- 
ing speculation  in  the  minds  of  the  neigh- 
bors, or  disturbed  her  own  tranquillity. 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  in  the  future 
except  a  possible  relief  to  her  curiosity. 
Some  day  the  unfortunate  man's  reason 
would  be  restored,  and  he  would  tell  his 
simple  history.  Perhaps  he  might  explain 
what  was  in  his  mind  when  he  turned  to  her 
the  first  evening  with  that  singular  sentence 
which  had  often  recurred  strangely  to  her, 
she  knew  not  why.  It  did  not  strike  her 
until  later  that  it  was  because  it  had  been 
the  solitary  indication  of  an  energy  and 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    105 

capacity  that  seemed  unlike  him.  Never- 
theless, after  that  explanation,  she  would 
have  been  quite  willing  to  have  shaken 
hands  with  him  and  parted. 

And  yet  —  for  there  was  an  unexpressed 
remainder  in  her  thought  —  she  was  never 
entirely  free  or  uninfluenced  in  his  pres- 
ence. The  flickering  vacancy  of  his  sad 
eyes  sometimes  became  fixed  with  a  resolute 
immobility  under  the  gentle  questioning  with 
which  she  had  sought  to  draw  out  his  facul- 
ties, that  both  piqued  and  exasperated  her. 
He  could  say  "  Yes "  and  "  No,"  as  she 
thought,  intelligently,  but  he  could  not  utter 
a  coherent  sentence  nor  write  a  word,  except 
like  a  child  in  imitation  of  his  copy.  She 
taught  him  to  repeat  after  her  the  names  of 
the  inanimate  objects  in  the  room,  then  the 
names  of  the  doctor,  his  attendant,  the  ser- 
vant, and,  finally,  her  own  under  her  Chris- 
tian prenomen,  with  frontier  familiarity ; 
but  when  she  pointed  to  himself  he  waited 
for  her  to  name  him !  In  vain  she  tried  him 
with  all  the  masculine  names  she  knew  ;  his 
was  not  one  of  them,  or  he  would  not  or 
could  not  speak  it.  For  at  times  she  re- 
jected the  professional  dictum  of  the  doctor 
that  the  faculty  of  memory  was  wholly  para- 


106     THE   CHATELAINE  OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

lyzed  or  held  in  abeyance,  even  to  the  half- 
automatic  recollection  of  his  letters,  yet  she 
inconsistently  began  to  teach  him  the  alpha- 
bet with  the  same  method,  and  —  in  her  sub- 
lime unconsciousness  of  his  manhood  —  with 
the  same  discipline  as  if  he  were  a  very 
child.  When  he  had  recovered  sufficiently 
to  leave  his  room,  she  would  lead  him  to  the 
porch  before  her  window,  and  make  him 
contented  and  happy  by  allowing  him  to 
watch  her  at  work  at  her  desk,  occasion- 
ally answering  his  wondering  eyes  with  a 
word,  or  stirring  his  faculties  with  a  ques- 
tion. I  grieve  to  say  that  her  parents  had 
taken  advantage  of  this  publicity  and  his 
supposed  helpless  condition  to  show  their 
disgust  of  his  assumption,  to  the  extreme  of 
making  faces  at  him  —  an  act  which  he  re- 
sented with  such  a  furious  glare  that  they 
retreated  hurriedly  to  their  own  veranda. 
A  fresh  though  somewhat  inconsistent  griev- 
ance was  added  to  their  previous  indictment 
of  him :  "  If  we  ain't  found  dead  in  our  bed 
with  our  throats  cut  by  that  woman's  crazy 
husband "  (they  had  settled  by  this  time 
that  there  had  been  a  clandestine  marriage), 
"  we  '11  be  lucky,"  groaned  Mrs.  Forsyth. 
Meantime,  the  mountain  summer  waxed 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    107 

to  its  fullness  of  fire  and  fruition.  There 
were  days  when  the  crowded  forest  seemed 
choked  and  impeded  with  its  own  foliage, 
and  pungent  and  stifling  with  its  own  rank 
maturity ;  when  the  long  hillside  ranks  of 
wild  oats,  thickset  and  impassable,  filled  the 
air  with  the  heated  dust  of  germination.  In 
this  quickening  irritation  of  life  it  would  be 
strange  if  the  unfortunate  man's  torpid  in- 
tellect was  not  helped  in  its  awakening,  and 
he  was  allowed  to  ramble  at  will  over  the 
ranch ;  but  with  the  instinct  of  a  domestic 
animal  he  always  returned  to  the  house,  and 
sat  in  the  porch,  where  Josephine  usually 
found  him  awaiting  her  when  she  herself  re- 
turned from  a  visit  to  the  mill.  Coming 
thence  one  day  she  espied  him  on  the  moun- 
tain-side leaning  against  a  projecting  ledge 
in  an  attitude  so  rapt  and  immovable  that 
she  felt  compelled  to  approach  him.  He 
appeared  to  be  dumbly  absorbed  in  the 
prospect,  which  might  have  intoxicated  a 
saner  mind. 

Half  veiled  by  the  heat  that  rose  quiver- 
ingly  from  the  fiery  caflon  below,  the  domain 
of  Burnt  Ridge  stretched  away  before  him, 
until,  lifted  in  successive  terraces  hearsed 
and  plumed  with  pines,  it  was  at  last  lost  in 


108     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

the  ghostly  snow-peaks.  But  the  practical 
Josephine  seized  the  opportunity  to  try  once 
more  to  awaken  the  slumbering  memory  of 
her  pupil.  Following  his  gaze  with  signs 
and  questions,  she  sought  to  draw  from  him 
some  indication  of  familiar  recollection  of 
certain  points  of  the  map  thus  unrolled  be- 
hind him.  But  in  vain.  She  even  pointed 
out  the  fateful  shadow  of  the  overhanging 
ledge  on  the  road  where  she  had  picked  him 
up  —  there  was  no  response  in  his  abstracted 
eyes.  She  bit  her  lips ;  she  was  becoming 
irritated  again.  Then  it  occurred  to  her 
that,  instead  of  appealing  to  his  hopeless 
memory,  she  had  better  trust  to  some  unre- 
flective  automatic  instinct  independent  of  it, 
and  she  put  the  question  a  little  forward : 
"  When  you  leave  us,  where  will  you  go  from 
here  ?  "  He  stirred  slightly,  and  turned  to- 
wards her.  She  repeated  her  query  slowly 
and  patiently,  with  signs  and  gestures  rec- 
ognized between  them.  A  faint  glow  of  in- 
telligence struggled  into  his  eyes ;  he  lifted 
his  arm  slowly,  and  pointed. 

"  Ah !  those  white  peaks  —  the  Sierras  ?  " 
she  asked,  eagerly.  No  reply.  "Beyond 
them?" 

"Yes." 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RJDGE.    109 

"The  States?"  No  reply.  "Further 
still?" 

He  remained  so  patiently  quiet  and  still 
pointing  that  she  leaned  forward,  and,  fol- 
lowing with  her  eyes  the  direction  of  his 
hand,  saw  that  he  was  pointing  to  the  sky ! 

Then  a  great  quiet  fell  upon  them.  The 
whole  mountain-side  seemed  to  her  to  be 
hushed,  as  if  to  allow  her  to  grasp  and  real- 
ize for  the  first  time  the  pathos  of  the  ruined 
life  at  her  side,  which  it  had  known  so  long, 
but  which  she  had  never  felt  till  now.  The 
tears  came  to  her  eyes ;  in  her  swift  revul- 
sion of  feeling  she  caught  the  thin  uplifted 
hand  between  her  own.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  he  was  about  to  raise  them  to  his  lips, 
but  she  withdrew  them  hastily,  and  moved 
away.  She  had  a  strange  fear  that  if  he 
had  kissed  them,  it  might  seem  as  if  some 
dumb  animal  had  touched  them  —  or  —  it 
might  not.  The  next  day  she  felt  a  con- 
sciousness of  this  in  his  presence,  and  a  wish 
that  he  was  well-cured  and  away.  She  deter- 
mined to  consult  Dr.  Duchesne  on  the  sub- 
ject when  he  next  called. 

But  the  doctor,  secure  in  the  welfare  of 
his  patient,  had  not  visited  him  lately,  and 
she  found  herself  presently  absorbed  in  the 


110    THE   CHATELAINE  OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

business  of  the  ranch,  which  at  this  season 
was  particularly  trying.  There  had  also 
been  a  quarrel  between  Dick  Shipley,  her 
mill  foreman,  and  Miguel,  her  ablest  and 
most  trusted  vaquero,  and  in  her  strict  sense 
of  impartial  justice  she  was  obliged  to  side 
on  the  merits  of  the  case  with  Shipley  against 
her  oldest  retainer.  This  troubled  her,  as 
she  knew  that  with  the  Mexican  nature,  fidel- 
ity and  loyalty  were  not  unmixed  with  quick 
and  unreasoning  jealousy.  For  this  reason 
she  was  somewhat  watchful  of  the  two  men 
when  work  was  over,  and  there  was  a  chance 
of  their  being  thrown  together.  Once  or 
twice  she  had  remained  up  late  to  meet 
Miguel  returning  from  the  posada  at  San 
Ramon,  filled  with  aguardiente  and  a  recol- 
lection of  his  wrongs,  and  to  see  him  safely 
bestowed  before  she  herself  retired.  It  was 
on  one  of  those  occasions,  however,  that  she 
learned  that  Dick  Shipley,  hearing  that 
Miguel  had  disparaged  him  freely  at  the 
posada,  had  broken  the  discipline  of  the 
ranch,  and  absented  himself  the  same  night 
that  Miguel  "  had  leave,"  with  a  view  of  fa- 
cing his  antagonist  on  his  own  ground.  To 
prevent  this,  the  fearless  girl  at  once  secretly 
set  out  alone  to  overtake  and  bring  back  the 
delinquent. 


THE    CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    HI 

For  two  or  three  hours  the  house  was  thus 
left  to  the  sole  occupancy  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Forsyth  and  the  invalid  —  a  fact  only  dimly 
suspected  by  the  latter,  who  had  become 
vaguely  conscious  of  Josephine's  anxiety,  and 
had  noticed  the  absence  of  light  and  move- 
ment in  her  room.  For  this  reason,  there- 
fore, having  risen  again  and  mechanically 
taken  his  seat  in  the  porch  to  await  her  re- 
turn, he  was  startled  by  hearing  her  voice  in 
the  shadow  of  the  lower  porch,  accompanied 
by  a  hurried  tapping  against  the  door  of  the 
old  couple.  The  half-reasoning  man  arose, 
and  would  have  moved  towards  it,  but  sud- 
denly he  stopped  rigidly,  with  white  and 
parted  lips  and  vacantly  distended  eyeballs. 

Meantime  the  voice  and  muffled  tapping- 
had  brought  the  tremulous  fingers  of  old 
Forsyth  to  the  door-latch.  He  opened  the 
door  partly;  a  slight  figure  that  had  been 
lurking  in  the  shadow  of  the  porch  pushed 
rapidly  through  the  opening.  There  was  a 
faint  outcry  quickly  hushed,  and  the  door 
closed  again.  The  rays  of  a  single  candle 
showed  the  two  old  people  hysterically  clasp- 
ing in  their  arms  the  figure  that  had  entered 
—  a  slight  but  vicious-looking  young  fellow 
of  five-and-twenty. 


112     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

"  There,  d — n  it !  "  he  said  impatiently, 
in  a  voice  whose  rich  depth  was  like  Jose- 
phine's, but  whose  querulous  action  was  that 
of  the  two.  old  people  before  him,  "  let  me 
go,  and  quit  that.  I  did  n't  come  here  to  be 
strangled!  I  want  some  money  —  money, 
you  hear  !  Devilish  quick,  too,  for  I  've  got 
to  be  off  again  before  daylight.  So  look 
sharp,  will  you  ?  " 

"  But,  Stevy  dear,  when  you  did  n't  come 
that  time  three  months  ago,  but  wrote  from 
Los  Angeles,  you  said  you  'd  made  a  strike 
at  last,  and  "  — 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  he  inter- 
rupted violently.  "  That  was  just  my  lyin' 
to  keep  you  from  worryin'  me.  Three 
months  ago  —  three  months  ago !  Why,  you 
must  have  been  crazy  to  have  swallowed  it ; 
I  had  n't  a  cent." 

"  Nor  have  we,"  said  the  old  woman, 
shrilly.  "That  hellish  sister  of  yours  still 
keeps  us  like  beggars.  Our  only  hope  was 
you,  our  own  boy.  And  now  you  only  come 
to  —  to  go  again." 

"  But  she  has  money ;  she  's  doing  well, 
and  she  shall  give  it  to  me,"  he  went  on, 
angrily.  "  She  can't  bully  me  with  her  busi- 
ness airs  and  morality.  Who  else  has 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    113 

got  a  right  to  share,  if  it  is  not  her  own 
brother?" 

Alas  for  the  fatuousness  of  human  malev- 
olence !  Had  the  unhappy  couple  related 
only  the  simple  facts  they  knew  about  the 
new  guest  of  Burnt  Ridge  Ranch,  and  the 
manner  of  his  introduction,  they  might  have 
spared  what  followed. 

But  the  old  woman  broke  into  a  vindic- 
tive cry:  "Who  else,  Steve  —  who  else? 
Why,  the  slut  has  brought  a  man  here  — 
a  sneaking,  deceitful,  underhanded,  crazy 
lover ! " 

"Oh,  has  she?"  said  the  young  man, 
fiercely,  yet  secretly  pleased  at  this  promis- 
ing evidence  of  his  sister's  human  weakness. 
"  Where  is  she  ?  I  '11  go  to  her.  She  's  in 
her  room,  I  suppose,"  and  before  they  could 
restrain  him,  he  had  thrown  off  their  im- 
peding embraces  and  darted  across  the 
hall. 

The  two  old  people  stared  doubtfully  at 
each  other.  For  even  this  powerful  ally, 
whose  strength,  however,  they  were  by  no 
means  sure  of,  might  succumb  before  the 
determined  Josephine  !  Prudence  demanded 
a  middle  course,  "  Ain't  they  brother  and 
sister?"  said  the  old  man,  with  an  air 


114     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

of  virtuous  toleration.     "Let  'em    fight   it 
out." 

The  young  man  impatiently  entered  the 
room  he  remembered  to  have  been  his 
sister's.  By  the  light  of  the  moon  that 
streamed  upon  the  window  he  could  see  she 
was  not  there.  He  passed  hurriedly  to  the 
door  of  her  bedroom ;  it  was  open ;  the  room 
was  empty,  the  bed  unturned.  She  was 
not  in  the  house  —  she  had  gone  to  the 
mill.  Ah !  What  was  that  they  had  said  ? 
An  infamous  thought  passed  through  the 
scoundrel's  mind.  Then,  in  what  he  half 
believed  was  an  access  of  virtuous  fury,  he 
began  by  the  dim  light  to  rummage  in  the 
drawers  of  the  desk  for  such  loose  coin  or 
valuables  as,  in  the  perfect  security  of  the 
ranch,  were  often  left  unguarded.  Sud- 
denly he  heard  a  heavy  footstep  on  the 
threshold,  and  turned. 

An  awful  vision  —  a  recollection,  so  unex- 
pected, so  ghostlike  in  that  weird  light  that 
he  thought  he  was  losing  his  senses  —  stood 
before  him.  It  moved  forwards  with  staring 
eyeballs  and  white  and  open  lips  from  which 
a  horrible  inarticulate  sound  issued  that  was 
the  speech  of  no  living  man !  With  a  single 
desperate,  almost  superhuman  effort  Stephen 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    115 

Forsyth  bounded  aside,  leaped  from  the  win- 
dow, and  ran  like  a  madman  from  the  house. 
Then  the  apparition  trembled,  collapsed,  and 
sank  in  an  undistinguishable  heap  to  the 
ground. 

When  Josephine  Forsyth  returned  an  hour 
later  with  her  mill  foreman,  she  was  startled 
to  find  her  helpless  patient  in  a  fit  on  the 
floor  of  her  room.  With  the  assistance  of 
her  now  converted  and  penitent  employee, 
she  had  the  unfortunate  man  conveyed  to  his 
room  —  but  not  until  she  had  thoughtfully 
rearranged  the  disorder  of  her  desk  and 
closed  the  open  drawers  without  attracting 
Dick  Shipley's  attention.  In  the  morning, 
hearing  that  the  patient  was  still  in  the  semi- 
conscious exhaustion  of  his  late  attack,  but 
without  seeing  him,  she  sent  for  Dr.  Du- 
chesne.  The  doctor  arrived  while  she  was 
absent  at  the  mill,  where,  after  a  careful 
examination  of  his  patient,  he  sought  her 
with  some  little  excitement. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  with  eager  gravity. 

"  Well,  it  looks  as  if  your  wish  would  be 
gratified.  Your  friend  has  had  an  epileptic 
fit,  but  the  physical  shock  has  started  his 
mental  machinery  again.  He  has  recovered 
his  faculties ;  his  memory  is  returning :  he 


116     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

thinks  and  speaks  coherently  ;  he  is  as  sane 
as  you  and  I." 

"  And  "  —  said  Josephine,  questioning  the 
doctor's  knitted  eyebrows. 

"I  am  not  yet  sure  whether  it  was  the  re- 
sult of  some  shock  he  does  n't  remember ;  or 
an  irritation  of  the  brain,  which  would  indi- 
cate that  the  operation  had  not  been  success- 
ful and  that  there  was  still  some  physical 
pressure  or  obstruction  there — in  which 
case  he  would  be  subject  to  these  attacks  all 
his  life." 

"  Do  you  think  his  reason  came  before  the 
fit  or  after  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  anxiously. 

"  I  could  n't  say.  Had  anything  hap- 
pened ?  " 

"  I  was  away,  and  found  him  on  the  floor 
on  my  return,"  she  answered,  half  uneasily. 
After  a  pause  she  said,  "  Then  he  has  told 
you  his  name  and  all  about  himself  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it 's  nothing  at  all !  He  was  a 
stranger  just  arrived  from  the  States,  going 
to  the  mines  —  the  old  story ;  had  no  near 
relations,  of  course  ;  was  n't  missed  or  asked 
after ;  remembers  walking  along  the  ridge 
and  falling  over ;  name,  John  Baxter,  of 
Maine."  He  paused,  and  relaxing  into  a 
slight  smile,  added,  "  I  have  n't  spoiled  your 
romance,  have  I  ?  " 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    117 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  an  answering  smile. 
Then  as  the  doctor  walked  briskly  away  she 
slightly  knitted  her  pretty  brows,  hung  her 
head,  patted  the  ground  with  her  little  foot 
beyond  the  hem  of  her  gown,  and  said  to 
herself,  "  The  man  was  lying  to  him." 


CHAPTER  III. 

ON  her  return  to  the  house,  Josephine  ap- 
parently contented  herself  with  receiving  the 
bulletin  of  the  stranger's  condition  from  the 
servant,  for  she  did  not  enter  his  room.  She 
had  obtained  no  theory  of  last  night's  inci- 
dent from  her  parents,  who,  beyond  a  quer- 
ulous agitation  that  was  quickened  by  the 
news  of  his  return  to  reason,  refrained  from 
even  that  insidious  comment  which  she  half 
feared  would  follow.  When  another  day 
passed  without  her  seeing  him,  she  neverthe- 
less was  conscious  of  a  little  embarrassment 
when  his  attendant  brought  her  the  request 
that  she  would  give  him  a  moment's  speech 
in  the  porch,  whither  he  had  been  removed. 

She  found  him  physically  weaker ;  indeed, 
so  much  so  that  she  was  fain,  even  in  her 
embarrassment,  to  assist  him  back  to  the 
bench  from  which  he  had  ceremoniously 
risen.  But  she  was  so  struck  with  the 
change  in  his  face  and  manner,  a  change  so 
virile  and  masterful,  in  spite  of  its  gentle 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    119 

sadness  of  manner,  that  she  recoiled  with  a 
slight  timidity  as  if  he  had  been  a  stranger, 
although  she  was  also  conscious  that  he 
seemed  to  be  more  at  his  ease  than  she 
was.  He  began  in  a  low  exhausted  voice, 
but  before  he  had  finished  his  first  sen- 
tence, she  felt  herself  in  the  presence  of  a 
superior. 

"  My  thanks  come  very  late,  Miss  For- 
syth,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  but  no 
one  knows  better  than  yourself  the  reason 
why,  or  can  better  understand  that  they 
mean  that  the  burden  you  have  so  gener- 
ously taken  on  yourself  is  about  to  be  lifted. 
I  know  all,  Miss  Forsyth.  Since  yesterday 
I  have  learned  how  much  I  owe  you,  even 
my  life  I  believe,  though  I  am  afraid  I  must 
tell  you  in  the  same  breath  that  that  is  of 
little  worth  to  any  one.  You  have  kindly 
helped  and  interested  yourself  in  a  poor 
stranger  who  turns  out  to  be  a  nobody,  with- 
out friends,  without  romance,  and  without 
even  mystery.  You  found  me  lying  in  the 
road  down  yonder,  after  a  stupid  accident 
that  might  have  happened  to  any  other  care- 
less tramp,  and  which  scarcely  gave  me  a 
claim  to  a  bed  in  the  county  hospital,  much 
less  under  this  kindly  roof.  It  was  not  my 


120     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

fault,  as  you  know,  that  all  this  did  not  come 
out  sooner ;  but  while  it  does  n't  lessen  your 
generosity,  it  does  n't  lessen  my  debt,  and 
although  I  cannot  hope  to  ever  repay  you, 
I  can  at  least  keep  the  score  from  running 
on.  Pardon  my  speaking  so  bluntly,  but 
my  excuse  for  speaking  at  all  was  to  say 
'  Good-by  '  and  fc  God  bless  you.'  Dr. 
Duchesne  has  promised  to  give  me  a  lift  on 
my  way  in  his  buggy  when  he  goes." 

There  was  a  slight  touch  of  consciousness 
in  his  voice  in  spite  of  its  sadness,  which 
struck  the  young  girl  as  a  weak  and  even 
ungentlemanly  note  in  his  otherwise  self- 
abnegating  and  undemonstrative  attitude. 
If  he  was  a  common  tramp,  he  would  n't 
talk  in  that  way,  and  if  he  was  n't,  why  did 
he  lie  ?  Her  practical  good  sense  here  as- 
serted itself. 

"But  you  are  far  from  strong  yet;  in 
fact,  the  doctor  says  you  might  have  a  re- 
lapse at  any  moment,  and  you  have  —  that 
is,  you  seem  to  have  no  money,"  she  said 
gravely. 

"That's  true,"  he  said,  quickly.  "I 
remember  I  was  quite  played  out  when  I 
entered  the  settlement,  and  I  think  I  had 
parted  from  even  some  little  trifles  I  carried 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    121 

with  me.  I  am  afraid  I  was  a  poor  find  to 
those  who  picked  me  up,  and  you  ought  to 
have  taken  warning.  But  the  doctor  has 
offered  to  lend  me  enough  to  take  me  to  San 
Francisco,  if  only  to  give  a  fair  trial  to  the 
machine  he  has  set  once  more  a-going." 

"Then  you  have  friends  in  San  Fran- 
cisco ?  "  said  the  young  girl  quickly.  "  Those 
who  know  you?  Why  not  write  to  them 
first,  and  tell  them  you  are  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  your  postmaster  here  would 
be  preoccupied  with  letters  for  John  Baxter, 
if  I  did,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  But  here  is  the 
doctor  waiting.  Good-by." 

He  stood  looking  at  her  in  a  peculiar,  yet 
half-resigned  way,  and  held  out  his  hand. 
For  a  moment  she  hesitated.  Had  he  been 
less  independent  and  strong,  she  would  have 
refused  to  let  him  go  —  have  offered  him 
some  slight  employment  at  the  ranch;  for 
oddly  enough,  in  spite  of  the  suspicion  that 
he  was  concealing  something,  she  felt  that 
she  would  have  trusted  him,  and  he  would 
have  been  a  help  to  her.  But  he  was  not 
only  determined,  but  she  was  all  the  time 
conscious  that  he  was  a  totally  different  man 
from  the  one  she  had  taken  care  of,  and 
merely  ordinary  prudence  demanded  that  she 


122     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

should  know  something  more  of  him  first. 
She  gave  him  her  hand  constrainedly  ;  he 
pressed  it  warmly. 

Dr.  Duchesne  drove  up,  helped  him  into 
the  buggy,  smiled  a  good-natured  but  half- 
perfunctory  assurance  that  he  would  look 
after  "  her  patient,"  and  drove  away. 

The  whole  thing  was  over,  but  so  unex- 
pectedly, so  suddenly,  so  unromantically,  so 
unsatisfactorily,  that,  although  her  common 
sense  told  her  that  it  was  perfectly  natural, 
proper,  business-like,  and  reasonable,  and, 
above  all,  final  and  complete,  she  did  not 
know  whether  to  laugh  or  be  angry.  Yet 
this  was  her  parting  from  the  man  who  had 
but  a  few  days  ago  moved  her  to  tears  with 
a  single  hopeless  gesture.  Well,  this  would 
teach  her  what  to  expect.  Well,  what  had 
she  expected  ?  Nothing ! 

Yet  for  the  rest  of  the  day  she  was  un- 
reasonably irritable,  and,  if  the  con  jointure 
be  not  paradoxical,  severely  practical,  and 
inhumanly  just.  Falling  foul  of  some  pre- 
sumption of  Miguel's,  based  upon  his  pre- 
scriptive rights  through  long  service  on  the 
estate,  with  the  recollection  of  her  severity 
towards  his  antagonist  in  her  mind,  she  rated 
that  trusted  retainer  with  such  pitiless  equity 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.     123 

and  unfeminine  logic  that  his  hot  Latin  blood 
chilled  in  his  veins,  and  he  stood  livid  on  the 
road.  Then,  informing  Dick  Shipley  with 
equally  relentless  calm  that  she  might  feel  it 
necessary  to  change  all  her  foremen  unless 
they  could  agree  in  harmony,  she  sought  the 
dignified  seclusion  of  her  castle.  But  her 
respected  parents,  whose  triumphant  relief 
at  the  stranger's  departure  had  emboldened 
them  to  await  her  return  in  their  porch  with 
bended  bows  of  invective  and  lifted  javelins 
of  aggression,  recoiled  before  the  resistless 
helm  of  this  cold-browed  Minerva,  who  gal- 
loped contemptuously  past  them. 

Nevertheless,  she  sat  late  that  night  at  her 
desk.  The  cold  moon  looked  down  upon  her 
window,  and  lit  up  the  empty  porch  where 
her  silent  guest  had  mutely  watched  her. 
For  a  moment  she  regretted  that  he  had  re- 
covered his  reason,  excusing  herself  on  the 
practical  ground  that  he  would  never  have 
known  his  dependence,  and  he  would  have 
been  better  cared  for  by  her.  She  felt  rest- 
less and  uneasy.  This  slight  divergence 
from  the  practical  groove  in  which  her  life 
had  been  set  had  disturbed  her  in  many  other 
things,  and  given  her  the  first  views  of  the 
narrowness  of  it. 


124     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  step  in  the  porch. 
The  lateness  of  the  hour,  perhaps  some  other 
reason,  seemed  to  startle  her,  and  she  half 
rose.  The  next  moment  the  figure  of  Miguel 
appeared  at  the  doorway,  and  with  a  quick, 
hurried  look  around  him,  and  at  the  open 
window,  he  approached  her.  He  was  evi- 
dently under  great  excitement,  his  hollow 
shaven  cheek  looked  like  a  waxen  effigy  in 
the  mission  church;  his  yellow,  tobacco- 
stained  eye  glittered  like  phosphorescent 
'amber,  his  lank  gray  hair  was  damp  and 
perspiring ;  but  more  striking  than  this  was 
the  evident  restraint  he  had  put  upon  him- 
self, pressing  his  broad-brimmed  sombrero 
with  both  of  his  trembling  yellow  hands 
against  his  breast.  The  young  girl  cast  a 
hurried  glance  at  the  open  window  and  at 
the  gun  which  stood  in  the  corner,  and  then 
confronted  him  with  clear  and  steady  eyes, 
but  a  paler  cheek. 

Ah,  he  began  in  Spanish,  which  he  himself 
had  taught  her  as  a  child,  it  was  a  strange 
thing,  his  coming  there  to-night ;  but,  then, 
mother  of  God  !  it  was  a  strange,  a  terrible 
thing  that  she  had  done  to  him  —  old  Miguel, 
her  uncle's  servant :  he  that  had  known  her 
as  a  muchacha;  he  that  had  lived  all  his 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    125 

life  at  the  ranch  —  ay,  and  whose  fathers 
before  him  had  lived  there  all  their  lives  and 
driven  the  cattle  over  the  very  spot  where 
she  now  stood,  before  the  thieving  Ameri- 
cans came  here  !  But  he  would  be  calm  ; 
yes,  the  senora  should  find  him  calm,  even 
as  she  was  when  she  told  him  to  go.  He 
would  not  speak.  No,  he  —  Miguel  —  would 
contain  himself ;  yes,  he  had  mastered  him- 
self, but  could  he  restrain  others  ?  Ah,  yes, 
others  —  that  was  it.  Could  he  keep  Manuel 
and  Pepe  and  Dominguez  from  talking  to 
the  milkman  —  that  leaking  sieve,  that  gab- 
bling brute  of  a  Shipley,  for  whose  sake 
she  had  cast  off  her  old  servant  that  very 
day? 

She  looked  at  him  with  cold  astonish- 
ment, but  without  fear.  Was  he  drunk  with 
aguardiente,  or  had  his  jealousy  turned  his 
brain  ?  He  continued  gasping,  but  still 
pressing  his  hat  against  his  breast. 

Ah,  he  saw  it  all !  Yes,  it  was  to-day,  the 
day  he  left.  Yes,  she  had  thought  it  safe 
to  cast  Miguel  off  now  —  now  that  he  was 
gone ! 

Without  in  the  least  understanding  him, 
the  color  had  leaped  to  her  cheek,  and  the 
consciousness  of  it  made  her  furious. 


126     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  "  she  said,  passionately. 
"  What  has  that  stranger  to  do  with  my 
affairs  or  your  insolence  ?  " 

He  stopped  and  gazed  at  her  with  a  cer- 
tain admiring  loyalty.  "  Ah  !  so,"  he  said, 
with  a  deep  breath,  "  the  sefiora  is  the  niece 
of  her  uncle.  She  does  well  not  to  fear  him 
—  a  dog,"  —  with  a  slight  shrug,  —  "  who 
is  more  than  repaid  by  the  senora's  conde- 
scension. He  dare  not  speak !  " 

"  Who  dare  not  speak  ?  Are  you  mad  ?  " 
She  stopped  with  a  sudden  terrible  instinct 
of  apprehension.  "  Miguel,"  she  said  in  her 
deepest  voice,  "  answer  me,  I  command  you  ! 
Do  you  know  anything  of  this  man  ?  " 

It  was  Miguel's  turn  to  recoil  from  his 
mistress.  "  Ah,  my  God  !  is  it  possible  the 
senora  has  not  suspect? " 

"  Suspect !  "  said  Josephine,  haughtily, 
albeit  her  proud  heart  was  beating  quickly. 
"  I  suspect  nothing.  I  command  you  to  tell 
me  what  you  know" 

Miguel  turned  with  a  rapid  gesture  and 
closed  the  door.  Then,  drawing  her  away 
from  the  window,  he  said  in  a  hurried  whis- 
per,- 

"  I  know  that  that  man  has  not  the  name 
of  Baxter !  I  know  that  he  has  the  name  of 


THE  CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    127 

Bandolph,  a  young  gambler,  who  have  won 
a  large  sum  at  Sacramento,  and,  fearing  to 
be  robbed  by  those  he  won  of,  have  walk  to 
himself  through  the  road  in  disguise  of  a 
miner.  I  know  that  your  brother  Estebaii 
have  decoyed  him  here,  and  have  fallen  on 
him." 

"  Stop  !  "  said  the  young  girl,  her  eyes, 
which  had  been  fixed  with  the  agony  of  con- 
viction, suddenly  flashing  with  the  energy  of 
despair.  "  And  you  call  yourself  the  ser- 
vant of  my  uncle,  and  dare  say  this  of  his 
nephew  ?  " 

"  Yes,  senora,"  broke  out  the  old  man,  pas- 
sionately. "  It  is  because  I  am  the  servant 
of  your  uncle  that  I,  and  I  alone,  dare  say 
it  to  you !  It  is  because  I  perjured  my  soul, 
and  have  perjured  my  soul  to  deny  it  else- 
where, that  I  now  dare  to  say  it !  It  is  be- 
cause I,  your  servant,  knew  it  from  one  of 
my  countrymen,  who  was  of  the  gang,  — 
because  I,  Miguel,  knew  that  your  brother 
was  not  far  away  that  night,  and  because  I, 
whom  you  would  dismiss,  have  picked  up 
this  pocket-book  of  Randolph's  and  your 
brother's  ring  which  he  have  dropped,  and 
I  have  found  beneath  the  body  of  the  man 
you  sent  me  to  fetch." 


128     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

He  drew  a  packet  from  his  bosom,  and 
tossed  it  on  the  desk  before  her. 

"  And  why  have  you  not  told  me  this  be- 
fore ?  "  said  Josephine,  passionately. 

Miguel  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  good?  Possibly  this  dog  Kan- 
dolph  would  die.  Possibly  he  would  live  — 
as  a  lunatic.  Possibly  would  happen  what 
has  happened !  The  senora  is  beautiful. 
The  American  has  eyes.  If  the  Dona  Jo- 
sephine's beauty  shall  finish  what  the  silly 
Don  Esteban's  arm  have  begun  —  what  mat- 
ter ?  " 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Josephine,  pressing  her 
hands  across  her  shuddering  eyes.  Then, 
uncovering  her  white  and  set  face,  she  said 
rapidly,  "  Saddle  my  horse  and  your  own  at 
once.  Then  take  your  choice  !  Come  with 
me  and  repeat  all  that  you  have  said  in  the 
presence  of  that  man,  or  leave  this  ranch 
forever.  For  if  I  live  I  shall  go  to  him  to- 
night, and  tell  the  whole  story." 

The  old  man  cast  a  single  glance  at  his 
mistress,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and,  with- 
out a  word,  left  the  room.  But  in  ten  min- 
utes they  were  on  their  way  to  the  county 
town. 


THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE.    129 

Day  was  breaking  over  the  distant  Burnt 
Ridge  —  a  faint,  ghostly  level,  like  a  funeral 
pall,  in  the  dim  horizon  —  as  they  drew  up 
before  the  gaunt,  white-painted  pile  of  the 
hospital  building.  Josephine  uttered  a  cry. 
Dr.  Duchesne's  buggy  was  before  the  door. 
On  its  very  threshold  they  met  the  doctor, 
dark  and  irritated.  "  Then  you  heard  the 
news  ?  "  he  said,  quickly. 

Josephine  turned  her  white  face  to  the 
doctor's.  "  What  news  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a 
voice  that  seemed  strangely  deep  and  reso- 
nant. 

"  The  poor  fellow  had  another  attack  last 
night,  and  died  of  exhaustion  about  an  hour 
ago.  I  was  too  late  to  save  him." 

"  Did  he  say  anything  ?  Was  he  con- 
scious ?  "  asked  the  girl,  hoarsely. 

"  No ;  incoherent !  Now  I  think  of  it,  he 
harped  on  the  same  string  as  he  did  the 
night  of  the  operation.  What  was  it  he 
said  ?  you  remember." 

"  '  You  '11  have  to  kill  me  first,'  "  repeated 
Josephine,  in  a  choking  voice. 

"  Yes  ;  something  about  his  dying  before 
he  'd  tell.  Well,  he  came  back  to  it  before 
he  went  off  —  they  often  do.  You  seem  a 
little  hoarse  with  your  morning  ride.  You 


130     THE   CHATELAINE   OF  BURNT  RIDGE. 

should  take  care  of  that  voice  of  yours. 
By  the  way,  it 's  a  good  deal  like  your 
brother's." 

The   Chatelaine   of   Burnt    Bidge   never 
married. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA    CLARA 
WHEAT. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  was  an  enormous  wheat -field  in  the 
Santa  Clara  valley,  stretching  to  the  horizon 
line  unbroken.  The  meridian  sun  shone 
upon  it  without  glint  or  shadow ;  but  at 
times,  when  a  stronger  gust  of  the  trade 
winds  passed  over  it,  there  was  a  quick  slant- 
ing impression  of  the  whole  surface  that  was, 
however,  as  unlike  a  billow  as  itself  was 
unlike  a  sea.  Even  when  a  lighter  zephyr 
played  down  its  long  level,  the  agitation  was 
superficial,  and  seemed  only  to  momentarily 
lift  a  veil  of  greenish  mist  that  hung  above 
its  immovable  depths.  Occasional  puffs  of 
dust  alternately  rose  and  fell  along  an  im- 
aginary line  across  the  field,  as  if  a  current 
of  air  were  passing  through  it,  but  were 
otherwise  inexplicable. 

Suddenly  a  faint  shout,  apparently  some- 


132     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

where  in  the  vicinity  of  the  line,  brought  out 
a  perfectly  clear  response,  followed  by  the 
audible  murmur  of  voices,  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  localize.  Yet  the  whole  field  was 
so  devoid  of  any  suggestion  of  human  life 
or  motion  that  it  seemed  rather  as  if  the 
vast  expanse  itself  had  become  suddenly 
articulate  and  intelligible. 

"  Wot  say  ?  " 

"  Wheel  off." 

"Whare?" 

"  In  the  road." 

One  of  the  voices  here  indicated  itself  in 
the  direction  of  the  line  of  dust,  and  said, 
"  Comin',"  and  a  man  stepped  out  from  the 
wheat  into  a  broad  and  dusty  avenue. 

With  his  presence  three  things  became 
apparent. 

First,  that  the  puffs  of  dust  indicated  the 
existence  of  the  invisible  avenue  through  the 
unlimited  and  unfenced  field  of  grain ;  sec- 
ondly, that  the  stalks  of  wheat  on  either  side 
of  it  were  so  tall  as  to  actually  hide  a  pass- 
ing vehicle ;  and  thirdly,  that  a  vehicle  had 
just  passed,  had  lost  a  wheel,  and  been 
dragged  partly  into  the  grain  by  its  fright- 
ened horse,  which  a  dusty  man  was  trying  to 
restrain  and  pacify. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT.     133 

The  horse,  given  up  to  equine  hysterics, 
and  evidently  convinced  that  the  ordinary 
buggy  behind  him  had  been  changed  into 
some  dangerous  and  appalling  creation,  still 
plunged  and  kicked  violently  to  rid  himself 
of  it.  The  man  who  had  stepped  out  of 
the  depths  of  the  wheat  quickly  crossed  the 
road,  unhitched  the  traces,  drew  back  the 
vehicle,  and,  glancing  at  the  traveler's  dusty 
and  disordered  clothes,  said,  with  curt  sym- 
pathy :  — 

"  Spilt,  too ;  but  not  hurt,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  neither  of  us.  I  went  over  with  the 
buggy  when  the  wheel  cramped,  but  she 
jumped  clear." 

He  made  a  gesture  indicating  the  pres- 
ence of  another.  The  man  turned  quickly. 
There  was  a  second  figure,  a  young  girl 
standing  beside  the  grain  from  which  he  had 
emerged,  embracing  a  few  stalks  of  wheat 
with  one  arm  and  a  hand  in  which  she  still 
held  her  parasol,  while  she  grasped  her  gath- 
ered skirts  with  the  other,  and  trying  to  find 
a  secure  foothold  for  her  two  neat  narrow 
slippers  on  a  crumbling  cake  of  adobe  above 
the  fathomless  dust  of  the  roadway.  Her 
face,  although  annoyed  and  discontented, 
was  pretty,  and  her  light  dress  and  slim  fig- 


134     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

ure  were  suggestive  of  a  certain  superior 
condition. 

The  man's  manner  at  once  softened  with 
Western  courtesy.  He  swung  Ms  broad- 
brimmed  hat  from  his  head,  and  bent  his 
body  with  the  ceremoniousness  of  the  coun- 
try ball-room.  "  I  reckon  the  lady  had  bet- 
ter come  up  to  the  shanty  out  o'  the  dust  and 
sun  till  we  kin  help  you  get  these  things 
fixed,"  he  said  to  the  driver.  "I'll  send 
round  by  the  road  for  your  hoss,  and  have 
one  of  mine  fetch  up  your  wagon." 

"Is  it  far?"  asked  the  girl,  slightly 
acknowledging  his  salutation,  without  wait- 
ing for  her  companion  to  reply. 

*'  Only  a  step  this  way,"  he  answered, 
motioning  to  the  field  of  wheat  beside  her. 

"  What !  In  there  ?  I  never  could  go  in 
there,"  she  said,  decidedly. 

"It  's  a  heap  shorter  than  by  the  road, 
and  not  so  dusty.  I  '11  go  with  you,  and 
pilot  you." 

The  young  girl  cast  a  vexed  look  at  her 
companion  as  the  probable  cause  of  all  this 
trouble,  and  shook  her  head.  But  at  the 
same  moment  one  little  foot  slipped  from 
the  adobe  into  the  dust  again.  She  instantly 
clambered  back  with  a  little  feminine  shriek. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    135 

and  ejaculated :  "  Well,  of  all  things !  "  and 
then,  fixing  her  blue  annoyed  eyes  on  the 
stranger,  asked  impatiently,  "  Why  could  n't 
I  go  there  by  the  road  'n  the  wagon?  I 
could  manage  to  hold  on  and  keep  in." 

"  Because  I  reckon  you  'd  find  it  too 
pow'ful  hot  waitin'  here  till  we  got  round 
to  ye." 

There  was  no  doubt  it  was  very  hot ;  the 
radiation  from  the  baking  roadway  beating 
up  under  her  parasol,  and  pricking  her 
cheekbones  and  eyeballs  like  needles.  She 
gave  a  fastidious  little  shudder,  furled  her 
parasol,  gathered  her  skirts  still  tighter, 
faced  about,  and  said,  "  Go  on,  then."  The 
man  slipped  backwards  into  the  ranks  of 
stalks,  parting  them  with  one  hand,  and 
holding  out  the  other  as  if  to  lead  her.  But 
she  evaded  the  invitation  by  holding  her 
tightly-drawn  skirt  with  both  hands,  and 
bending  her  head  forward  as  if  she  had  not 
noticed  it.  The  next  moment  the  road,  and 
even  the  whole  outer  world,  disappeared  be- 
hind them,  and  they  seemed  floating  in  a 
choking  green  translucent  mist. 

But  the  effect  was  only  momentary;  a 
few  steps  further  she  found  that  she  could 
walk  with  little  difficulty  between  the  ranks 


136     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

of  stalks,  which  were  regularly  spaced,  and 
the  resemblance  now  changed  to  that  of  a 
long  pillared  conservatory  of  greenish  glass, 
that  touched  all  objects  with  its  pervading 
hue.  She  also  found  that  the  close  air  above 
her  head  was  continually  freshened  by  the 
interchange  of  currents  of  lower  tempera- 
ture from  below,  —  as  if  the  whole  vast  field 
had  a  circulation  of  its  own,  —  and  that  the 
adobe  beneath  her  feet  was  gratefully  cool 
to  her  tread.  There  was  no  dust,  as  he  had 
said  ;  what  had  at  first  half  suffocated  her 
seemed  to  be  some  stimulating  aroma  of 
creation  that  filled  the  narrow  green  aisles, 
and  now  imparted  a  strange  vigor  and  ex- 
citement to  her  as  she  walked  along.  Mean- 
time her  guide  was  not  conversationally  idle. 
Now,  no  doubt,  she  had  never  seen  anything 
like  this  before?  It  was  ordinary  wheat, 
only  it  was  grown  on  adobe  soil  —  the  rich- 
est in  the  valley.  These  stalks,  she  could 
see  herself,  were  ten  and  twelve  feet  high. 
That  was  the  trouble,  they  all  ran  too  much 
to  stalk,  though  the  grain  yield  was  "  suthen' 
pow'ful."  She  could  tell  that  to  her  friends, 
for  he  reckoned  she  was  the  only  young  lady 
that  had  ever  walked  under  such  a  growth. 
Perhaps  she  was  new  to  Calif orny?  He 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    137 

thought  so  from  the  start.  Well,  this  was 
Californy,  and  this  was  not  the  least  of  the 
ways  it  could  "  lay  over "  every  other  coun- 
try on  God's  yearth.  Many  folks  thought 
it  was  the  gold  and  the  climate,  but  she  could 
see  for  herself  what  it  could  do  with  wheat. 
He  wondered  if  her  brother  had  ever  told 
her  of  it  ?  No,  the  stranger  was  n't  her 
brother.  Nor  cousin,  nor  company  ?  No ; 
only  the  hired  driver  from  a  San  Jose  hotel, 
who  was  takiii'  her  over  to  Major  Ran- 
dolph's. Yes,  he  knew  the  old  major ;  the 
ranch  was  a  pretty  place,  nigh  unto  three 
miles  further  on.  Now  that  he  knew  the 
driver  was  no  relation  of  hers  he  did  n't 
mind  telling  her  that  the  buggy  was  a 
"  rather  old  consarn,"  and  the  driver  did  n't 
know  his  business.  Yes,  it  might  be  fixed 
up  so  as  to  take  her  over  to  the  major's ; 
there  was  one  of  their  own  men  —  a  young 
fellow  —  who  could  do  anything  that  could 
be  done  with  wood  and  iron,  —  a  reg'lar 
genius !  —  and  lie  'd  tackle  it.  It  might  take 
an  hour,  but  she  'd  find  it  quite  cool  waiting 
in  the  shanty.  It  was  a  rough  place,  for 
they  only  camped  out  there  during  the  sea- 
son to  look  after  the  crop,  and  lived  at  their 
own  homes  the  rest  of  the  time.  Was  she 


138     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT. 

going  to  stay  long  at  the  major's  ?  He  no- 
ticed she  had  not  brought  her  trunk  with 
her.  Had  she  known  the  major's  wife  long? 
Perhaps  she  thought  of  settling  in  the  neigh- 
borhood ? 

All  this  naive,  good-humored  questioning 
—  so  often  cruelly  misunderstood  as  mere 
vulgar  curiosity,  but  as  often  the  courteous 
instinct  of  simple  unaffected  people  to  enter- 
tain the  stranger  by  inviting  him  to  talk 
of  what  concerns  himself  rather  than  their 
own  selves  —  was  nevertheless,  I  fear,  met 
only  by  monosyllables  from  the  young  lady 
or  an  impatient  question  in  return.  She 
scarcely  raised  her  eyes  to  the  broad  jean- 
shirted  back  that  preceded  her  through  the 
grain  until  the  man  abruptly  ceased  talking, 
and  his  manner,  without  losing  its  half-pater- 
nal courtesy,  became  graver.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  be  conscious  of  her  incivility,  and 
was  trying  to  think  of  something  to  say, 
when  he  exclaimed  with  a  slight  air  of  relief, 
"  Here  we  are ! "  and  the  shanty  suddenly 
appeared  before  them. 

It  certainly  was  very  rough  —  a  mere  shell 
of  unpainted  boards  that  scarcely  rose  above 
the  level  of  the  surrounding  grain,  and  a  few 
yards  distant  was  invisible.  Its  slightly  slop- 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    139 

ing  roof,  already  warped  and  shrunken  into 
long  fissures  that  permitted  glimpses  of  the 
steel-blue  sky  above,  was  evidently  intended 
only  as  a  shelter  from  the  cloudless  sun  in 
those  two  months  of  rainless  days  and  dew- 
less  nights  when  it  was  inhabited.  Through 
the  open  doors  and  windows  she  could  see 
a  row  of  "  bunks,"  or  rude  sleeping  berths 
against  the  walls,  furnished  with  coarse  mat- 
tresses and  blankets.  As  the  young  girl 
halted,  the  man  with  an  instinct  of  delicacy 
hurried  forward,  entered  the  shanty,  and 
dragging  a  rude  bench  to  the  doorway,  placed 
it  so  that  she  could  sit  beneath  the  shade  of 
the  roof,  yet  with  her  back  to  these  domestic 
revelations.  Two  or  three  men,  who  had 
been  apparently  lounging  there,  rose  qui- 
etly, and  unobtrusively  withdrew.  Her  guide 
brought  her  a  tin  cup  of  deliciously  cool 
water,  exchanged  a  few  hurried  words  with 
his  companions,  and  then  disappeared  with 
them,  leaving  her  alone. 

Her  first  sense  of  relief  from  their  com- 
pany was,  I  fear,  stronger  than  any  other 
feeling.  After  a  hurried  glance  around  the 
deserted  apartment,  she  arose,  shook  out  her 
dress  and  mantle,  and  then  going  into  the 
darkest  corner  supported  herself  with  one 


140     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

hand  against  the  wall  while  with  the  other 
she  drew  off,  one  by  one,  her  slippers  from 
her  slim,  striped-stockinged  feet,  shook  and 
blew  out  the  dust  that  had  penetrated 
within,  and  put  them  on  again.  Then,  per- 
ceiving a  triangular  fragment  of  looking- 
glass  nailed  against  the  wall,  she  settled  the 
strings  of  her  bonnet  by  the  aid  of  its  reflec- 
tion, patted  the  fringe  of  brown  hair  on  her 
forehead  with  her  separated  five  fingers  as  if 
playing  an  imaginary  tune  on  her  brow,  and 
came  back  with  maidenly  abstraction  to  the 
doorway. 

Everything  was  quiet,  and  her  seclusion 
seemed  unbroken.  A  smile  played  for  an 
instant  in  the  soft  shadows  of  her  eyes  and 
mouth  as  she  recalled  the  abrupt  withdrawal 
of  the  men.  Then  her  mouth  straightened 
and  her  brows  slightly  bent.  It  was  cer- 
tainly very  unmannerly  in  them  to  go  off  in 
that  way.  "  Good  heavens !  could  n't  they 
have  stayed  around  without  talking  ?  Surely 
it  did  n't  require  four  men  to  go  and  bring 
up  that  wagon  !  "  She  picked  up  her  par- 
asol from  the  bench  with  an  impatient  little 
jerk.  Then  she  held  out  her  ungloved  hand 
into  the  hot  sunshine  beyond  the  door  with 
the  gesture  she  would  have  used  had  it  been 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.     141 

raining,  and  withdrew  it  as  quickly  —  her 
hand  quite  scorched  in  the  burning  rays. 
Nevertheless,  after  another  impatient  pause 
she  desperately  put  up  her  parasol  and 
stepped  from  the  shanty. 

Presently  she  was  conscious  of  a  faint 
sound  of  hammering  not  far  away.  Perhaps 
there  was  another  shed,  but  hidden,  like 
everything  else,  in  this  monotonous,  ridicu- 
lous grain.  Some  stalks,  however,  were  trod- 
den down  and  broken  around  the  shanty ; 
she  could  move  more  easily  and  see  where 
she  was  going.  To  her  delight,  a  few  steps 
further  brought  her  into  a  current  of  the 
trade-wind  and  a  cooler  atmosphere.  And 
a  short  distance  beyond  them,  certainly, 
was  the  shed  from  which  the  hammering 
proceeded.  She  approached  it  boldly. 

It  was  simply  a  roof  upheld  by  rude  up- 
rights and  crossbeams,  and  open  to  the  breeze 
that  swept  through  it.  At  one  end  was  a 
small  blacksmith's  forge,  some  machinery, 
and  what  appeared  to  be  part  of  a  small 
steam-engine.  Midway  of  the  shed  was  a 
closet  or  cupboard  fastened  with  a  large  pad- 
lock. Occupying  its  whole  length  on  the 
other  side  was  a  work-bench,  and  at  the  fur- 
ther end  stood  the  workman  she  had  heard. 


142     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

He  was  apparently  only  a  year  or  two 
older  than  herself,  and  clad  in  blue  jean 
overalls,  blackened  and  smeared  with  oil  and 
coal-dust.  Even  his  youthful  face,  which  he 
turned  towards  her,  had  a  black  smudge 
running  across  it  and  almost  obliterating  a 
small  auburn  moustache.  The  look  of  sur- 
prise that  he  gave  her,  however,  quickly 
passed ;  he  remained  patiently  and  in  a  half- 
preoccupied  way,  holding  his  hammer  in  his 
hand,  as  she  advanced.  This  was  evidently 
the  young  fellow  who  could  "do  anything 
that  could  be  done  with  wood  and  iron." 

She  was  very  sorry  to  disturb  him,  but 
could  he  tell  her  how  long  it  would  be  be- 
fore the  wagon  could  be  brought  up  and 
mended  ?  He  could  not  say  that  until  he 
himself  saw  what  was  to  be  done ;  if  it  was 
only  a  matter  of  the  wheel  he  could  fix  it  up 
in  a  few  moments ;  if,  as  he  had  been  told, 
it  was  a  case  of  twisted  or  bent  axle,  it 
would  take  longer,  but  it  would  be  here  very 
soon.  Ah,  then,  would  he  let  her  wait  here, 
as  she  was  very  anxious  to  know  at  once,  and 
it  was  much  cooler  than  in  the  shed  ?  Cer- 
tainly ;  he  would  go  over  and  bring  her  a 
bench.  But  here  she  begged  he  would  n't 
trouble  himself,  she  could  sit  anywhere  com- 
fortably. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.     143 

The  lower  end  of  the  work-bench  was  cov- 
ered with  clean  and  odorous  shavings;  she 
lightly  brushed  them  aside  and,  with  a  youth- 
ful movement,  swung  herself  to  a  seat  upon 
it,  supporting  herself  on  one  hand  as  she 
leaned  towards  him.  She  could  thus  see 
that  his  eyes  were  of  a  light-yellowish  brown, 
like  clarified  honey,  with  a  singular  look  of 
clear  concentration  in  them,  which,  however, 
was  the  same  whether  turned  upon  his  work, 
the  surrounding  grain,  or  upon  her.  This, 
and  his  sublime  unconsciousness  of  the 
smudge  across  his  face  and  his  blackened 
hands,  made  her  wonder  if  the  man  who 
could  do  everything  with  wood  and  iron  was 
above  doing  anything  with  water.  She  had 
half  a  mind  to  tell  him  of  it,  particularly  as 
she  noticed  also  that  his  throat  below  the 
line  of  sunburn  disclosed  by  his  open  collar 
was  quite  white,  and  his  grimy  hands  well 
made.  She  was  wondering  whether  he 
would  be  affronted  if  she  said  in  her  politest 
way,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  do  you  know 
you  have  quite  accidentally  got  something 
on  your  face,"  and  offer  her  handkerchief, 
which,  of  course,  he  would  decline,  when  her 
eye  fell  on  the  steam-engine. 

"  How  odd !  Do  you  use  that  on  the 
farm?" 


144     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

"  No,"  —  he  smiled  here,  the  smudge  ac- 
centing it  and  setting  off  his  white  teeth  in 
a  Christy  Minstrel  fashion  that  exasperated 
her  —  no,  although  it  could  be  used,  and  had 
been.  But  it  was  his  first  effort,  made  two 
years  ago,  when  he  was  younger  and  more 
inexperienced.  It  was  a  rather  rough  thing, 
she  could  see  —  but  he  had  to  make  it  at 
odd  times  with  what  iron  he  could  pick  up 
or  pay  for,  and  at  different  forges  where  he 
worked. 

She  begged  his  pardon  —  where  — 

WTiere  he  worked. 

Ah,  then  he  was  the  machinist  or  en- 
gineer here  ? 

No,  he  worked  here  just  like  the  others, 
only  he  was  allowed  to  put  up  a  forge  while 
the  grain  was  green,  and  have  his  bench  in 
consideration  of  the  odd  jobs  he  could  do  in 
the  way  of  mending  tools,  etc.  There  was  a 
heap  of  mending  and  welding  to  do  —  she 
had  no  idea  how  quickly  agricultural  ma- 
chines got  out  of  order !  He  had  done  much 
of  his  work  on  the  steam-engine  on  moonlit 
nights.  Yes  ;  she  had  no  idea  how  perfectly 
clear  and  light  it  was  here  in  the  valley  on 
such  nights ;  although  of  course  the  shadows 
were  very  dark,  and  when  he  dropped  a 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    145 

screw  or  a  nut  it  was  difficult  to  find.  He 
had  worked  there  because  it  saved  time  and 
because  it  did  n't  cost  anything,  and  he  had 
nobody  to  look  on  or  interfere  with  him. 
No,  it  was  not  lonely ;  the  coyotes  and  wild 
cats  sometimes  came  very  near,  but  were  al- 
ways more  surprised  and  frightened  than  he 
was ;  and  once  a  horseman  who  had  strayed 
off  the  distant  road  yonder  mistook  him  for 
an  animal  and  shot  at  him  twice. 

He  told  all  this  with  such  freedom  from 
embarrassment  and  with  such  apparent  un- 
consciousness of  the  blue  eyes  that  were  fol- 
lowing him,  and  the  light,  graceful  figure,  — 
which  was  so  near  his  own  that  in  some  of 
his  gestures  his  grimy  hands  almost  touched 
its  delicate  garments,  —  that,  accustomed  as 
she  was  to  a  certain  masculine  aberration  in 
her  presence,  she  was  greatly  amused  by  his 
nai've  acceptance  of  her  as  an  equal.  Sud- 
denly, looking  frankly  in  her  face,  he  said : 

"I'll  show  you  a  secret,  if  you  care  to 
see  it." 

Nothing  would  please  her  more. 

He  glanced  hurriedly  around,  took  a  key 
from  his  pocket,  and  unlocked  the  padlock 
that  secured  the  closet  she  had  noticed. 
Then,  reaching  within,  with  infinite  care  he 
brought  out  a  small  mechanical  model. 


146     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

"  There  's  an  invention  of  my  own.  A 
reaper  and  thresher  combined.  I  'm  going 
to  have  it  patented  and  have  a  big  one  made 
from  this  model.  This  will  work,  as  you 
see." 

He  then  explained  to  her  with  great  pre- 
cision how  as  it  moved  over  the  field  the 
double  operation  was  performed  by  the  same 
motive  power.  That  it  would  be  a  saving 
of  a  certain  amount  of  labor  and  time  which 
she  could  not  remember.  She  did  not  un- 
derstand a  word  of  his  explanations  ;  she  saw 
only  a  clean  and  pretty  but  complicated  toy 
that  under  the  manipulation  of  his  grimy 
fingers  rattled  a  number  of  frail-like  staves 
and  worked  a  number  of  wheels  and  drums, 
yet  there  was  no  indication  of  her  ignorance 
in  her  sparkling  eyes  and  smiling,  breathless 
attitude.  Perhaps  she  was  interested  in  his 
own  absorption ;  the  revelation  of  his  pre- 
occupation with  this  model  struck  her  as  if 
he  had  made  her  a  confidante  of  some  boy- 
ish passion  for  one  of  her  own  sex,  and  she 
regarded  him  with  the  same  sympathizing 
superiority. 

"  You  will  make  a  fortune  out  of  it,"  she 
said  pleasantly. 

Well,  he  might  make  enough  to  be  able 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.     147 

to  go  on  with  some  other  inventions  he  had 
in  his  mind.  They  cost  money  and  time,  no 
matter  how  careful  one  was. 

This  was  another  interesting  revelation  to 
the  young  girl.  He  not  only  did  not  seem 
to  care  for  the  profit  his  devotion  brought 
him,  but  even  his  one  beloved  ideal  might 
be  displaced  by  another.  So  like  a  man, 
after  all ! 

Her  reflections  were  broken  upon  by  the 
sound  of  voices.  The  young  man  carefully 
replaced  the  model  in  its  closet  with  a  part- 
ing glance  as  if  he  was  closing  a  shrine,  and 
said,  "  There  comes  the  wagon."  The  young 
girl  turned  to  face  the  men  who  were  drag- 
ging it  from  the  road,  with  the  half -compla- 
cent air  of  having  been  victorious  over  their 
late  rude  abandonment,  but  they  did  not 
seem  to  notice  it  or  to  be  surprised  at  her 
companion,  who  quickly  stepped  forward  and 
examined  the  broken  vehicle  with  workman- 
like deliberation. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  do  something 
with  it,"  she  said  sweetly,  appealing  directly 
to  him.  "  I  should  thank  you  so  much." 

He  did  not  reply.  Presently  he  looked 
up  to  the  man  who  had  brought  her  to  the 
shanty,  and  said,  "  The  axle  's  strained,  but 


148     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT. 

it  's  safe  for  five  or  six  miles  more  of  this 
road.  I  '11  put  the  wheel  on  easily."  He 
paused,  and  without  glancing  at  her,  contin- 
ued, "  You  might  send  her  on  by  the  cart." 

"Pray  don't  trouble  yourselves,"  inter- 
rupted the  young  girl,  with  a  pink  uprising 
in  her  cheeks ;  "  I  shall  be  quite  satisfied 
with  the  buggy  as  it  stands."  Send  her  on 
in  the  cart,  indeed!  Really,  they  were  a 
rude  set  —  all  of  them." 

Without  taking  the  slightest  notice  of  her 
remark,  the  man  replied  gravely  to  the  young 
mechanic,  "  Yes,  but  we  ?11  be  wanting  the 
cart  before  it  can  get  back  from  taking 
her." 

"  Her  "  again.  "  I  assure  you  the  buggy 
will  serve  perfectly  well  —  if  this  —  gentle- 
man —  will  only  be  kind  enough  to  put  on 
the  wheel  again,"  she  returned  hotly. 

The  young  mechanic  at  once  set  to  work. 
The  young  girl  walked  apart  silently  until  the 
wheel  was  restored  to  its  axle.  But  to  her 
surprise  a  different  horse  was  led  forward  to 
be  harnessed. 

"  We  thought  your  horse  was  n't  safe  in 
case  of  another  accident,"  said  the  first  man, 
with  the  same  smileless  consideration.  "  This 
one  would  n't  cut  up  if  he  was  harnessed  to 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    149 

an  earthquake  or  a  worse  driver  than  you  've 
got." 

It  occurred  to  her  instantly  that  the  more 
obvious  remedy  of  sending  another  driver 
had  been  already  discussed  and  rejected  by 
them.  Yet,  when  her  own  driver  appeared 
a  moment  afterwards,  she  ascended  to  her 
seat  with  some  dignity  and  a  slight  increase 
of  color. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  all,"  she 
said,  without  glancing  at  the  young  inventor. 

"  Don't  mention  it,  miss." 

"  Good  afternoon." 

"Good  afternoon."  They  all  took  off 
their  hats  with  the  same  formal  gravity  as 
the  horse  moved  forward,  but  turned  back 
to  their  work  again  before  she  was  out  of 
the  field. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  ranch  of  Major  Randolph  lay  on  a 
rich  falda  of  the  Coast  Range,  and  over- 
looked the  great  wheat  plains  that  the  young 
girl  had  just  left.  The  house  of  wood  and 
adobe,  buried  to  its  first  story  in  rose-trees 
and  passion  vines,  was  large  and  commodi- 
ous. Yet  it  contained  only  the  major,  his 
wife,  her  son  and  daughter,  and  the  few  oc- 
casional visitors  from  San  Francisco  whom 
he  entertained,  and  she  tolerated. 

For  the  major's  household  was  not  entirely 
harmonious.  While  a  young  infantry  sub- 
altern at  a  Gulf  station,  he  had  been  at- 
tracted by  the  piquant  foreign  accent  and 
dramatic  gestures  of  a  French  Creole  widow, 
and  —  believing  them,  in  the  first  flush  of 
his  youthful  passion  more  than  an  offset  to 
the  encumbrance  of  her  two  children  who; 
with  the  memory  of  various  marital  infideli- 
ties were  all  her  late  husband  had  left  her 
—  had  proposed,  been  accepted,  and  promptly 
married  to  her.  Before  he  obtained  his  cap- 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.     151 

taincy,  she  had  partly  lost  her  accent,  and 
those  dramatic  gestures,  which  had  accented 
the  passion  of  their  brief  courtship,  began 
to  intensify  domestic  altercation  and  the 
bursts  of  idle  jealousy  to  which  she  was 
subject.  Whether  she  was  revenging  her- 
self on  her  second  husband  for  the  faults  of 
her  first  is  not  known,  but  it  was  certain 
that  she  brought  an  unhallowed  knowledge 
of  the  weaknesses,  cheap  cynicism,  and  van- 
ity of  a  foreign  predecessor,  to  sit  in  judg- 
ment upon  the  simple-minded  and  chivalrous 
American  soldier  who  had  succeeded  him, 
and  who  was,  in  fact,  the  most  loyal  of  hus- 
bands. The  natural  result  of  her  skepticism 
was  an  espionage  and  criticism  of  the  wives 
of  the  major's  brother  officers  that  com- 
pelled a  frequent  change  of  quarters.  When 
to  this  was  finally  added  a  racial  divergence 
and  antipathy,  the  public  disparagement  of 
the  customs  and  education  of  her  female 
colleagues,  and  the  sudden  insistence  of  a 
foreign  and  French  dominance  in  her  house- 
hold beyond  any  ordinary  Creole  justifica- 
tion, Randolph,  presumably  to  avoid  later 
international  complications,  resigned  while 
he  was  as  yet  a  major.  Luckily  his  latest 
banishment  to  an  extreme  Western  outpost 


152     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

had  placed  him  in  California  during  the 
flood  of  a  speculation  epoch.  He  purchased 
a  valuable  Spanish  grant  to  three  leagues  of 
land  for  little  over  a  three  months'  pay. 
Following  that  yearning  which  compels  re- 
tired ship-captains  and  rovers  of  all  degrees 
to  buy  a  farm  in  their  old  days,  the  major, 
professionally  and  socially  inured  to  border 
strife,  sought  surcease  and  Arcadian  repose 
in  ranching. 

It  was  here  that  Mrs.  Randolph,  late  rel- 
ict of  the  late  Scipion  L'Hommadieu,  de- 
voted herself  to  bringing  up  her  children 
after  the  extremest  of  French  methods,  and 
in  resurrecting  a  "  de  "  from  her  own  family 
to  give  a  distinct  and  aristocratic  character 
to  their  name.  The  "  de  Fontanges  T  Hom- 
madieu  "  were,  however,  only  known  to  their 
neighbors,  after  the  Western  fashion,  by 
their  stepfather's  name,  —  when  they  were 
known  at  all  —  which  was  seldom.  For  the 
boy  was  unpleasantly  conceited  as  a  preco- 
cious worldling,  and  the  girl  as  unpleasantly 
complacent  in  her  role  of  ingenue.  The 
household  was  completely  dominated  by 
Mrs.  Randolph.  A  punctilious  Catholic, 
she  attended  all  the  functions  of  the  adja- 
cent mission,  and  the  shadow  of  a  black 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    153 

soutane  at  twilight  gliding  through  the  wild 
oat-fields  behind  the  ranch  had  often  been 
mistaken  for  a  coyote.  The  peace-loving 
major  did  not  object  to  a  piety  which,  while 
it  left  his  own  conscience  free,  imparted  a 
respectable  religious  air  to  his  household, 
and  kept  him  from  the  equally  distasteful 
approaches  of  the  Puritanism  of  his  neigh- 
bors, and  was  blissfully  unconscious  that  he 
was  strengthening  the  antagonistic  foreign 
element  in  his  family  with  an  alien  church. 

Meantime,  as  the  repaired  buggy  was 
slowly  making  its  way  towards  his  house, 
Major  Randolph  entered  his  wife's  boudoir 
with  a  letter  which  the  San  Francisco  post 
had  just  brought  him.  A  look  of  embar- 
rassment on  his  good-humored  face  strength- 
ened the  hard  lines  of  hers ;  she  felt  some 
momentary  weakness  of  her  natural  enemy, 
and  prepared  to  give  battle. 

"  I  'm  afraid  here 's  something  of  a  mud- 
dle, Josephine,"  he  began  with  a  deprecating 
smile.  "  Mallory,  who  was  coining  down 
here  with  his  daughter,  you  know  "  — 

"  This  is  the  first  intimation  I  have  had 
that  anything  has  been  settled  upon,"  inter- 
rupted the  lady,  with  appalling  deliberation. 

"  However,  my  dear,  you  know  I  told  you 


154  THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT. 

last  week  that  he  thought  of  bringing  her 
here  while  he  went  South  on  business.  You 
know,  being  a  widower,  he  has  no  one  to  leave 
her  with." 

"  And  I  suppose  it  is  the  American  fash- 
ion to  intrust  one's  daughters  to  any  old 
boon  companions  ?  " 

"  Mallory  is  an  old  friend,"  interrupted 
the  major,  impatiently.  "  He  knows  I  'm 
married,  and  although  he  has  never  seen 
you,  he  is  quite  willing  to  leave  his  daughter 
here." 

"  Thank  you  !  " 

"  Come,  you  know  what  I  mean.  The 
man  naturally  believes  that  my  wife  will  be 
a  proper  chaperone  for  his  daughter.  But 
that  is  not  the  present  question.  He  in- 
tended to  call  here  ;  I  expected  to  take  you 
over  to  San  Jose  to  see  her  and  all  that,  you 
know;  but  the  fact  of  it  is  —  that  is  —  it 
seems  from  this  letter  that  —  he  's  been  called 
away  sooner  than  he  expected,  and  that  — 
well  —  hang  it  I  the  girl  is  actually  on  her 
way  here  now." 

"Alone?" 

"I  suppose  so.  You  know  one  thinks 
nothing  of  that  here." 

"  Or  any  other  propriety,  for  that  matter." 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    155 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Josephine,  don't  be 
ridiculous  !  Of  course  it 's  stupid  her  com- 
ing in  this  way,  and  Mallory  ought  to  have 
brought  her  —  but  she 's  coming,  and  we 
must  receive  her.  By  Jove  !  Here  she  is 
now  !  "  he  added,  starting  up  after  a  hurried 
glance  through  the  window.  "  But  what 
kind  of  a  d — d  turn-out  is  that,  anyhow  ?  " 

It  certainly  was  an  odd-looking  convey- 
ance that  had  entered  the  gates,  and  was 
now  slowly  coming  up  the  drive  towards  the 
house.  A  large  draught  horse  harnessed  to 
a  dust-covered  buggy,  whose  strained  fore- 
axle,  bent  by  the  last  mile  of  heavy  road, 
had  slanted  the  tops  of  the  fore-wheels 
towards  each  other  at  an  alarming  angle. 
The  light,  graceful  dress  and  elegant  parasol 
of  the  young  girl,  who  occupied  half  of  its 
single  seat,  looked  ludicrously  pronounced  by 
the  side  of  the  slouching  figure  and  grimy 
duster  of  the  driver,  who  occupied  the  other 
half. 

Mrs.  Randolph  gave  a  gritty  laugh.  "  I 
thought  you  said  she  was  alone.  Is  that  an 
escort  she  has  picked  up,  American  fashion, 
on  the  road  ?  " 

"That's  her  hired  driver,  no  doubt. 
Hang  it !  she  can't  drive  here  by  herself," 


156     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT. 

retorted  the  major,  impatiently,  hurrying  to 
the  door  and  down  the  staircase.  But  he 
was  instantly  followed  by  his  wife.  She  had 
no  idea  of  permitting  a  possible  understand- 
ing to  be  exchanged  in  their  first  greeting. 
The  late  M.  1'Hommadieu  had  been  able  to 
impart  a  whole  plan  of  intrigue  in  a  single 
word  and  glance. 

Happily,  Rose  Mallory,  already  in  the  hall, 
in  a  few  words  detailed  the  accident  that  had 
befallen  her,  to  the  honest  sympathy  of  the 
major  and  the  coldly-polite  concern  of  Mrs. 
Randolph,  who,  in  deliberately  chosen  sen- 
tences, managed  to  convey  to  the  young  girl 
the  conviction  that  accidents  of  any  kind  to 
young  ladies  were  to  be  regarded  as  only 
a  shade  removed  from  indiscretions.  Rose 
was  impressed,  and  even  flattered,  by  the 
fastidiousness  of  this  foreign-appearing  wo- 
man, and  after  the  fashion  of  youthful  na- 
tures, accorded  to  her  the  respect  due  to 
recognized  authority.  When  to  this  author- 
ity, which  was  evident,  she  added  a  deprecia- 
tion of  the  major,  I  fear  that  some  common 
instinct  of  feminine  tyranny  responded  in 
Rose's  breast,  and  that  on  the  very  threshold 
of  the  honest  soldier's  home  she  tacitly  agreed 
with  the  wife  to  look  down  upon  him,  Mrs, 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT.    157 

Randolph  departed  to  inform  her  son  and 
daughter  of  their  guest's  arrival.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  however,  they  had  already  ob- 
serve 1  her  approach  to  the  house  through  the 
slits  of  their  drawn  window-blinds,  and  those 
even  narrower  prejudices  and  limited  com- 
prehensions which  their  education  had  fos- 
tered. The  girl,  Adele,  had  only  grasped 
the  fact  that  Rose  had  come  to  their  house 
in  fine  clothes,  alone  with  a  man,  in  a  broken- 
down  vehicle,  and  was  moved  to  easy  mirth 
and  righteous  wonder.  The  young  man, 
Emile,  had  agreed  with  her,  with  the  mental 
reservation  that  the  guest  was  pretty,  and 
must  eventually  fall  in  love  with  him.  They 
both,  however,  welcomed  her  with  a  trained 
politeness  and  a  superficial  attention  that, 
while  the  indifference  of  her  own  country- 
men in  the  wheat-field  was  still  fresh  in  her 
recollection,  struck  her  with  grateful  con- 
trast ;  the  major's  quiet  and  unobtrusive 
kindliness  naturally  made  less  impression,  or 
was  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  Well,"  said  the  major,  cheerfully  but 
tentatively,  to  his  wife  when  they  were  alone 
again,  "  she  seems  a  nice  girl,  after  all ;  and 
a  good  deal  of  pluck  and  character,  by  Jove ! 
to  push  on  in  that  broken  buggy  rather  than 
linger  or  come  in  a  farm  cart,  eh  ?  " 


158     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

"  She  was  alone  in  that  wheat-field,"  said 
Mrs.  Randolph,  with  grim  deliberation,  "  for 
half  an  hour ;  she  confesses  it  herself  —  talk- 
ing with  a  young  man  !  " 

"  Yes,  but  the  others  had  gone  for  the 
buggy.  And,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  what 
would  you  have  her  do  —  hide  herself  in  the 
grain  ?  "  said  the  major,  desperately.  "  Be- 
sides," he  added,  with  a  recklessness  he  af- 
terwards regretted,  "  that  mechanical  chap 
they've  got  there  is  really  intelligent  and 
worth  talking  to." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  she  thought  so,"  said 
Mrs.  Randolph,  with  a  mirthless  smile.  "  In 
fact,  I  have  observed  that  the  American 
freedom  generally  means  doing  what  you 
want  to  do.  Indeed,  I  wonder  she  did  n't 
bring  him  with  her !  Only  I  beg,  major, 
that  you  will  not  again,  in  the  presence  of 
my  daughter,  —  and  I  may  even  say,  of  my 
son,  —  talk  lightly  of  the  solitary  meetings 
of  young  ladies  with  mechanics,  even  though 
their  faces  were  smutty,  and  their  clothes 
covered  with  oil." 

The  major  here  muttered  something  about 
there  being  less  danger  in  a  young  lady 
listening  to  the  intelligence  of  a  coarsely- 
dressed  laborer  than  to  the  compliments  of 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    159 

a  rose-scented  fop,  but  Mrs.  Kandolph  walked 
out  of  the  room  before  he  finished  the  evi- 
dent platitude. 

That  night  Rose  Mallory  retired  to  her 
room  in  a  state  of  self-satisfaction  that  she 
even  felt  was  to  a  certain  extent  a  virtue. 
She  was  delighted  with  her  reception  and 
with  her  hostess  and  family.  It  was  strange 
her  father  had  not  spoken  more  of  Mrs. 
Randolph,  who  was  clearly  the  superior  of 
his  old  friend.  What  fine  manners  they  all 
had,  so  different  from  other  people  she  had 
known !  There  was  quite  an  Old  World  civi- 
lization about  them ;  really,  it  was  like  going 
abroad !  She  would  make  the  most  of  her 
opportunity  and  profit  by  her  visit.  She 
would  begin  by  improving  her  French  ;  they 
spoke  it  perfectly,  and  with  such  a  pure  ac- 
cent. She  would  correct  certain  errors  she 
was  conscious  of  in  her  own  manners,  and 
copy  Mrs.  Randolph  as  much  as  possible. 
Certainly,  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  said 
of  Mrs.  Randolph's  way  of  looking  at  things. 
Now  she  thought  of  it  calmly,  there  was  too 
much  informality  and  freedom  in  American 
ways!  There  was  not  enough  respect  due 
to  position  and  circumstances.  Take  those 
men  in  the  wheat-field,  for  example.  Yet 


160     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

here  she  found  it  difficult  to  formulate  an 
indictment  against  them  for  "  freedom."  She 
would  like  to  go  there  some  day  with  the 
Randolphs  and  let  them  see  what  company 
manners  were  !  She  was  thoroughly  con- 
vinced now  that  her  father  had  done  wrong 
in  sending  her  alone ;  it  certainly  was  most 
disrespectful  to  them  and  careless  of  him 
(she  had  quite  forgotten  that  she  had  herself 
proposed  to  her  father  to  go  alone  rather 
than  wait  at  the  hotel),  and  she  must  have 
looked  very  ridiculous  in  her  fine  clothes  and 
the  broken-down  buggy.  When  her  trunk 
came  by  express  to-morrow  she  would  look 
out  something  more  sober.  She  must  re- 
member that  she  was  in  a  Catholic  and  reli- 
gious household  now.  Ah,  yes !  how  very 
fine  it  was  to  see  that  priest  at  dinner  in  his 
soutane,  sitting  down  like  one  of  the  family, 
and  making  them  all  seem  like  a  picture  of 
some  historical  and  aristocratic  romance ! 
And  then  they  were  actually  "  de  Fontanges 
V  Hommadieu"  How  different  he  was  from 
that  shabby  Methodist  minister  who  used  to 
come  to  see  her  father  in  a  black  cravat  with 
a  hideous  bow  !  Really  there  was  something 
to  say  for  a  religion  that  contained  so  much 
picturesque  refinement ;  and  for  her  part  — 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.     161 

but  that  will  do.  I  beg  to  say  that  I  am 
not  writing  of  any  particular  snob  or  femi- 
nine monstrosity,  but  of  a  very  charming 
creature,  who  was  quite  able  to  say  her 
prayers  afterwards  like  a  good  girl,  and  lay 
her  pretty  cheek  upon  her  pillow  without  a 
blush. 

She  opened  her  window  and  looked  out. 
The  moon,  a  great  silver  dome,  was  uplift- 
ing itself  from  a  bluish-gray  level,  which  she 
knew  was  the  distant  plain  of  wheat.  Some- 
where in  its  midst  appeared  a  dull  star,  at 
times  brightening  as  if  blown  upon  or  drawn 
upwai'ds  in  a  comet-like  trail.  By  some  odd 
instinct  she  felt  that  it  was  the  solitary  forge 
of  the  young  inventor,  and  pictured  him 
standing  before  it  with  his  abstracted  hazel 
eyes  and  a  face  more  begrimed  in  the  moon- 
light than  ever.  When  did  he  wash  him- 
self ?  Perhaps  not  until  Sunday.  How 
lonely  it  must  be  out  there !  She  slightly 
shivered  and  turned  from  the  window.  As 
she  did  so,  it  seemed  to  her  that  something 
knocked  against  her  door  from  without. 
Opening  it  quickly,  she  was  almost  certain 
that  the  sound  of  a  rustling  skirt  retreated 
along  the  passage.  It  was  very  late  ;  per- 
haps she  had  disturbed  the  house  by  shut- 


162     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

ting  her  window.  No  doubt  it  was  the  mo- 
therly interest  of  Mrs.  Randolph  that  im- 
pelled her  to  come  softly  and  look  after  her  ; 
and  for  once  her  simple  surmises  were  cor- 
rect. For  not  only  the  inspecting  eyes  of 
her  hostess,  but  the  amatory  glances  of  the 
youthful  Emile,  had  been  fastened  upon  her 
window  until  the  light  disappeared,  and  even 
the  Holy  Mission  Church  of  San  Jose  had 
assured  itself  of  the  dear  child's  safety  with 
a  large  and  supple  ear  at  her  keyhole. 

The  next  morning  Major  Randolph  took 
her  with  Adele  in  a  light  cariole  over  the 
ranch.  Although  his  domain  was  nearly  as 
large  as  the  adjoining  wheat  plain,  it  was 
not,  like  that,  monopolized  by  one  enormous 
characteristic  yield,  but  embraced  a  more 
diversified  product.  There  were  acres  and 
acres  of  potatoes  in  rows  of  endless  and 
varying  succession ;  there  were  miles  of  wild 
oats  and  barley,  which  overtopped  them  as 
they  drove  in  narrow  lanes  of  dry  and  dusty 
monotony ;  there  were  orchards  of  pears, 
apricots,  peaches,  and  nectarines,  and  vine- 
yards of  grapes,  so  comparatively  dwarfed 
in  height  that  they  scarcely  reached  to  the 
level  of  their  eyes,  yet  laden  and  breaking 
beneath  the  weight  of  their  ludicrously  dis- 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT.    163 

proportionate  fruit.  What  seemed  to  be  a 
vast  green  plateau  covered  with  tiny  patches, 
that  headed  the  northern  edge  of  the  pros- 
pect, was  an  enormous  bed  of  strawberry 
plants.  But  everywhere,  crossing  the  track, 
bounding  the  fields,  orchards,  and  vineyards, 
intersecting  the  paths  of  the  whole  domain, 
were  narrow  irrigating  ducts  and  channels 
of  running  water. 

"  Those,"  said  the  major,  poetically,  "  are 
the  veins  and  arteries  of  the  ranch.  Come 
with  me  now,  and  I  '11  show  you  its  pulsa- 
ting heart."  Descending  from  the  wagon 
into  pedestrian  prose  again,  he  led  Rose  a 
hundred  yards  further  to  a  shed  that  covered 
a  wonderful  artesian  well.  In  the  centre  of 
a  basin  a  column  of  water  rose  regularly 
with  the  even  flow  and  volume  of  a  brook. 
"  It  is  one  of  the  largest  in  the  State,"  said 
the  major,  "  and  is  the  life  of  all  that  grows 
here  during  six  months  of  the  year." 

Pleased  as  the  young  girl  was  with  those 
evidences  of  the  prosperity  and  position  of 
her  host,  she  was  struck,  however,  with  the 
fact  that  the  farm-laborers,  wine-growers, 
nurserymen,  and  all  field  hands  scattered  on 
the  vast  estate  were  apparently  of  the  same 
independent,  unpastoral,  and  unprofessional 


164     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

character  as  the  men  of  the  wheat -field. 
There  were  no  cottages  or  farm  buildings 
that  she  could  see,  nor  any  apparent  connec- 
tion between  the  household  and  the  estate ; 
far  from  suggesting  tenantry  or  retainers, 
the  men  who  were  working  in  the  fields 
glanced  at  them  as  they  passed  with  the 
indifference  of  strangers,  or  replied  to  the 
major's  greetings  or  questionings  with  per- 
fect equality  of  manner,  or  even  business- 
like reserve  and  caution.  Her  host  explained 
that  the  ranch  was  worked  by  a  company 
"  on  shares ; "  that  those  laborers  were,  in 
fact,  the  bulk  of  the  company ;  and  that  he, 
the  major,  only  furnished  the  land,  the  seed, 
and  the  implements.  "  That  man  who  was 
driving  the  long  roller,  and  with  whom  you 
were  indignant  because  he  would  n't  get  out 
of  our  way,  is  the  president  of  the  com- 
pany." 

"  That  need  n't  make  him  so  uncivil,"  said 
Rose,  poutingly,  "  for  if  it  comes  to  that 
you  're  the  landlord"  she  added  trium- 
phantly. 

"No,"  said  the  major,  good-humoredly. 
"  I  am  simply  the  man  driving  the  lighter 
and  more  easily-managed  team  for  pleasure, 
and  he 's  the  man  driving  the  heavier  and 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    165 

more  difficult  machine  for  work.  It 's  for 
me  to  get  out  of  his  way ;  and  looked  at  in 
the  light  of  my  being  the  landlord  it  is  still 
worse,  for  as  we  're  working  '  on  shares ' 
I  'm  interrupting  his  work,  and  reducing  his 
profits  merely  because  I  choose  to  sacrifice 
my  own." 

I  need  not  say  that  those  atrociously  level- 
ing sentiments  were  received  by  the  young 
ladies  with  that  feminine  scorn  which  is 
only  qualified  by  misconception.  Rose,  who, 
under  the  influence  of  her  hostess,  had  a 
vague  impression  that  they  sounded  some- 
thing like  the  French  Revolution,  and  that 
Adele  must  feel  like  the  Princess  Elizabeth, 
rushed  to  her  relief  like  a  good  girl.  "  But, 
major,  now,  you  're  a  gentleman,  and  if  you 
had  been  driving  that  roller,  you  know  you 
would  have  turned  out  for  us." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  major, 
mischievously  ;  "  but  if  I  had,  I  should  have 
known  that  the  other  fellow  who  accepted  it 
was  n't  a  gentleman." 

But  Rose,  having  sufficiently  shown  her 
partisanship  in  the  discussion,  after  the  fem- 
inine fashion,  did  not  care  particularly  for 
the  logical  result.  After  a  moment's  silence 
she  resumed  :  "  And  the  wheat  ranch  below 
—  is  that  carried  on  in  the  same  way?  " 


166     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

"  Yes.  But  their  landlord  is  a  bank,  who 
advances  not  only  the  land,  but  the  money 
to  work  it,  and  does  n't  ride  around  in  a 
buggy  with  a  couple  of  charmingly  distract- 
ing young  ladies." 

"  And  do  they  all  share  alike  ?  "  continued 
Rose,  ignoring  the  pleasantry,  "  big  and  lit- 
tle —  that  young  inventor  with  the  rest  ?  " 

She  stopped.  She  felt  the  ingenue's  usu- 
ally complacent  eyes  suddenly  fixed  upon 
her  with  an  unhallowed  precocity,  and  as 
quickly  withdrawn.  Without  knowing  why, 
she  felt  embarrassed,  and  changed  the  sub- 
ject. 

The  next  day  they  drove  to  the  Convent 
of  Santa  Clara  and  the  Mission  College  of 
San  Jose.  Their  welcome  at  both  places 
seemed  to  Rose  to  be  a  mingling  of  caste 
greeting  and  spiritual  zeal,  and  the  austere 
seclusion  and  reserve  of  those  cloisters  re- 
peated that  suggestion  of  an  Old  World  civi- 
lization that  had  already  fascinated  the  young 
Western  girl.  They  made  other  excursions 
in  the  vicinity,  but  did  not  extend  it  to  a 
visit  to  their  few  neighbors.  With  their  re- 
served and  exclusive  ideas  this  fact  did  not 
strike  Rose  as  peculiar,  but  on  a  later  shop- 
ping expedition  to  the  town  of  San  Jose,  a 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    167 

certain  reticence  and  aggressive  sensitiveness 
on  the  part  of  the  shopkeepers  and  trades- 
people towards  the  Randolphs  produced  an 
unpleasant  impression  on  her  mind.  She 
could  not  help  noticing,  too,  that  after  the 
first  stare  of  astonishment  which  greeted 
her  appearance  with  her  hostess,  she  herself 
was  included  in  the  antagonism.  With  her 
youthful  prepossession  for  her  friends,  this 
distinction  she  regarded  as  flattering  and 
aristocratic,  and  I  fear  she  accented  it  still 
more  by  discussing  with  Mrs.  Randolph  the 
merits  of  the  shopkeepers'  wares  in  school- 
girl French  before  them.  She  was  unfor- 
tunate enough,  however,  to  do  this  in  the 
shop  of  a  polyglot  German. 

"Oxcoos  me,  mees,"  he  said  gravely, — 
"but  dot  lady  speeks  Engeleesh  so  goot  mit 
yourselluf ,  and  ven  you  dells  to  her  dot  silk 
is  hallf  gotten  in  English,  she  onderstand 
you  mooch  better,  and  it  don't  make  nodings 
to  me."  The  laugh  which  would  have  fol- 
lowed from  her  own  countrywomen  did  not, 
however,  break  upon  the  trained  faces  of  the 
"  de  Fontanges  V Hommadieus"  yet  while 
Rose  would  have  joined  in  it,  albeit  a  little 
ruefully,  she  felt  for  the  first  time  mortified 
at  their  civil  insincerity. 


168    THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks,  Major  Randolph 
received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Mallory.  When 
he  had  read  it,  he  turned  to  his  wife :  "  He 
thanks  you,"  he  said,  "  for  your  kindness  to 
his  daughter,  and  explains  that  his  sudden 
departure  was  owing  to  the  necessity  of  his 
taking  advantage  of  a  great  opportunity  for 
speculation  that  had  offered."  As  Mrs. 
Randolph  turned  away  with  a  slight  shrug 
of  the  shoulders,  the  major  continued :  "  But 
you  have  n't  heard  all !  That  opportunity 
was  the  securing  of  a  half  interest  in  a  Cin- 
nabar lode  in  Sonora,  which  has  already 
gone  up  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  his 
hands !  By  Jove !  a  man  can  afford  to  drop 
a  little  social  ceremony  on  those  terms  —  eh, 
Josephine  ?  "  he  concluded  with  a  triumphant 
chuckle. 

"  He  's  as  likely  to  lose  his  hundred  thou- 
sand to-morrow,  while  his  manners  will  re- 
main." said  Mrs.  Randolph.  "  I  've  no  faith 
in  these  sudden  California  fortunes !  " 

"  You  're  wrong  as  regards  Mallory,  for 
he  's  as  careful  as  he  is  lucky.  He  don't 
throw  money  away  for  appearance  sake,  or 
he  'd  have  a  rich  home  for  that  daughter. 
He  could  afford  it." 

Mrs.  Randolph  was  silent.     "  She  is  his 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT.     169 

only  daughter,  I  believe,"  she  continued  pres- 
ently. 

"  Yes  —  he  has  no  other  kith  or  kin,"  re- 
turned the  major. 

"  She  seems  to  be  very  much  impressed  by 
Emile,"  said  Mrs.  Randolph. 

Major  Randolph  faced  his  wife  quickly. 

"  In  the  name  of  all  that 's  ridiculous,  my 
dear,  you  are  not  already  thinking  of" —  he 
gasped. 

"  I  should  be  very  loth  to  give  my  sanc- 
tion to  anything  of  the  kind,  knowing  the 
difference  of  her  birth,  education,  and  reli- 
gion, —  although  the  latter  I  believe  she 
would  readily  change,"  said  Mrs.  Randolph, 
severely.  "  But  when  you  speak  of  my  al- 
ready thinking  of  4  such  things,'  do  you  sup- 
pose that  your  friend,  Mr.  Mallory,  did  n't 
consider  all  that  when  he  sent  that  girl 
here?" 

"Never,"  said  the  major,  vehemently, 
"  and  if  it  entered  his  head  now,  by  Jove, 
he  'd  take  her  away  to-morrow  —  always 
supposing  I  did  n't  anticipate  him  by  send- 
ing her  off  myself." 

Mrs.  Randolph  uttered  her  mirthless 
laugh.  "  And  you  suppose  the  girl  would 
go?  Really,  major,  you  don't  seem  to 


170     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

understand  this  boasted  liberty  of  your  own 
countrywoman.  What  does  she  care  for  her 
father's  control  ?  Why,  she  'd  make  him  do 
just  what  she  wanted.  But,"  she  added  with 
an  expression  of  dignity,  "  perhaps  we  had 
better  not  discuss  this  until  we  know  some- 
thing of  Emile's  feelings  in  the  matter. 
That  is  the  only  question  that  concerns  us." 
With  this  she  swept  out  of  the  room,  leav- 
ing the  major  at  first  speechless  with  honest 
indignation,  and  then  after  the  fashion  of 
all  guileless  natures,  a  little  uneasy  and  sus- 
picious of  his  own  guilelessness.  For  a  day 
or  two  after,  he  found  himself,  not  without 
a  sensation  of  meanness,  watching  Rose 
when  in  Emile's  presence,  but  he  could  dis- 
tinguish nothing  more  than  the  frank  satis- 
faction she  showed  equally  to  the  others. 
Yet  he  found  himself  regretting  even  that, 
so  subtle  was  the  contagion  of  his  wife's  sus- 
picions. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IT  had  been  a  warm  morning ;  an  unusual 
mist,  which  the  sun  had  not  dissipated,  had 
crept  on  from  the  great  grain-fields  beyond, 
and  hung  around  the  house  charged  with  a 
dry,  dusty  closeness  that  seemed  to  be  quite 
independent  of  the  sun's  rays,  and  more  like 
a  heated  exhalation  or  emanation  of  the  soil 
itself.  In  its  acrid  irritation  Rose  thought 
she  could  detect  the  breath  of  the  wheat  as 
on  the  day  she  had  plunged  into  its  pale, 
green  shadows.  By  the  afternoon  this  mist 
had  disappeared,  apparently  in  the  same 
mysterious  manner,  but  not  scattered  by  the 
usual  trade-wind,  which  —  another  unusual 
circumstance  —  that  day  was  not  forthcom- 
ing. There  was  a  breathlessness  in  the  air 
like  the  hush  of  listening  expectancy,  which 
filled  the  young  girl  with  a  vague  restless- 
ness, and  seemed  to  even  affect  a  scattered 
company  of  crows  in  the  field  beyond  the 
house,  which  rose  suddenly  with  startled  but 
aimless  wings,  and  then  dropped  vacantly 
among  the  grain  again. 


172     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

Major  Randolph  was  inspecting  a  distant 
part  of  the  ranch,  Mrs.  Randolph  was  pre- 
sumably engaged  in  her  boudoir,  and  Rose 
was  sitting  between  Adele  and  Emile  before 
the  piano  in  the  drawing-room,  listlessly  turn- 
ing over  the  leaves  of  some  music.  There 
had  been  an  odd  mingling  of  eagerness  and 
abstraction  in  the  usual  attentions  of  the 
young  man  that  morning,  and  a  certain  ner- 
vous affectation  in  his  manner  of  twisting 
the  ends  of  a  small  black  moustache,  which 
resembled  his  mother's  eyebrows,  that  had 
affected  Rose  with  a  half -amused,  half -uneasy 
consciousness,  but  which  she  had,  however, 
referred  to  the  restlessness  produced  by  the 
weather.  It  occurred  to  her  also  that  the 
vacuously  amiable  Adele  had  once  or  twice 
regarded  her  with  the  same  precocious,  child- 
like curiosity  and  infantine  cunning  she  had 
once  before  exhibited.  All  this  did  not, 
however,  abate  her  admiration  for  both  — 
perhaps  particularly  for  this  picturesquely 
gentlemanly  young  fellow,  with  his  gentle 
audacities  of  compliment,  his  caressing  at- 
tentions, and  his  unfailing  and  equal  address. 
And  when,  discovering  that  she  had  mislaid 
her  fan  for  the  fifth  time  that  morning,  he 
started  up  with  equal  and  undiminished  fire 


THROUGH  THE  SA&TA  CLARA  WHEAT.    173 

to  go  again  and  fetch  it,  the  look  of  grateful 
pleasure  and  pleading  perplexity  in  her 
pretty  eyes  might  have  turned  a  less  con- 
ceited brain  than  his. 

"  But  you  don't  know  where  it  is !  " 

"  I  shall  find  it  by  instinct." 

"  You  are  spoiling  me  —  you  two."  The 
parenthesis  was  a  hesitating  addition,  but  she 
continued,  with  fresh  sincerity,  "  I  shall  be 
quite  helpless  when  I  leave  here  —  if  I  am 
ever  able  to  go  by  myself." 

"  Don't  ever  go,  then." 

"  But  just  now  I  want  my  fan ;  it  is  so 
close  everywhere  to-day." 

"  I  fly,  mademoiselle." 

He  started  to  the  door. 

She  called  after  him  :  — 

"  Let  me  help  your  instinct,  then  ;  I  had 
it  last  in  the  major's  study." 

"  That  was  where  I  was  going." 

He  disappeared.  Rose  got  up  and  mo\  ed 
uneasily  towards  the  window.  "  How  queer 
and  quiet  it  looks  outside.  It 's  really  too 
bad  that  he  should  be  sent  after  that  fan 
again.  He  '11  never  find  it."  She  resumed 
her  place  at  the  piano,  Adele  following  her 
with  round,  expectant  eyes.  After  a  pause 
she  started  up  again.  "  I  '11  go  and  fetch  it 


174    THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

myself,"  she  said,  with,  a  half -embarrassed 
laugh,  and  ran  to  the  door. 

Scarcely  understanding  her  own  nervous- 
ness, but  finding  relief  in  rapid  movement, 
Rose  flew  lightly  up  the  staircase.  The 
major's  study,  where  she  had  been  writing 
letters,  during  his  absence,  that  morning, 
was  at  the  further  end  of  a  long  passage, 
and  near  her  own  bedroom,  the  door  of 
which,  as  she  passed,  she  noticed,  half- 
abstractedly,  was  open,  but  she  continued 
on  and  hurriedly  entered  the  study.  At  the 
same  moment  Emile,  with  a  smile  on  his 
face,  turned  towards  her  with  the  fan  in  his 
hand. 

"  Oh,  you  Ve  found  it,"  she  said,  with 
nervous  eagerness.  "  I  was  so  afraid  you  'd 
have  all  your  trouble  for  nothing." 

She  extended  her  hand,  with  a  half -breath- 
less smile,  for  the  fan,  but  he  caught  her 
outstretched  little  palm  in  his  own,  and  held 
it. 

"  Ah  !  but  you  are  not  going  to  leave  us, 
are  you?" 

In  a  flash  of  consciousness  she  understood 
him,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  her  own  ner- 
vousness, and  all,  and  everything.  And 
with  it  came  a  swift  appreciation  of  all  it 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    175 

meant  to  her  and  her  future.  To  be  always 
with  him  and  like  him,  a  part  of  this  refined 
and  restful  seclusion  —  akin  to  all  that  had 
so  attracted  her  in  this  house  ;  not  to  be 
obliged  to  educate  herself  up  to  it,  but  to 
be  in  it  on  equal  terms  at  once;  to  know 
that  it  was  no  wild,  foolish  youthful  fancy, 
but  a  wise,  thoughtful,  and  prudent  resolve, 
that  her  father  would  understand  and  her 
friends  respect :  these  were  the  thoughts  that 
crowded  quickly  upon  her,  more  like  an  ex- 
planation of  her  feelings  than  a  revelation, 
in  the  brief  second  that  he  held  her  hand. 
It  was  not,  perhaps,  love  as  she  had  dreamed 
it,  and  even  believed  it,  before.  She  was 
not  ashamed  or  embarrassed  ;  she  even  felt, 
with  a  slight  pride,  that  she  was  not  blush- 
ing. She  raised  her  eyes  frankly.  What 
she  would  have  said  she  did  not  know,  for 
the  door,  which  he  had  closed  behind  her, 
began  to  shake  violently. 

It  was  not  the  fear  of  some  angry  intru- 
sion or  interference  surely  that  made  him 
drop  her  hand  instantly.  It  was  not  —  her 
second  thought  —  the  idea  that  some  one 
had  fallen  in  a  fit  against  it  that  blanched 
his  face  with  abject  and  unreasoning  terror ! 
It  must  have  been  something  else  that 


176     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

caused  him  to  utter  an  inarticulate  cry  and 
dash  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  stairs 
like  a  madman  !  What  had  happened  ? 

In  her  own  self-possession  she  knew  that 
all  this  was  passing  rapidly,  that  it  was  not 
the  door  now  that  was  still  shaking,  for  it 
had  swung  almost  shut  again  —  but  it  was 
the  windows,  the  book-shelves,  the  floor  be- 
neath her  feet,  that  were  all  shaking.  She 
heard  a  hurried  scrambling,  the  trampling 
of  feet  below,  and  the  quick  rustling  of  a 
skirt  in  the  passage,  as  if  some  one  had 
precipitately  fled  from  her  room.  Yet  no 
one  had  called  to  her  —  even  he  had  said 
nothing.  Whatever  had  happened  they 
clearly  had  not  cared  for  her  to  know. 

The  jarring  and  rattling  ceased  as  sud- 
denly, but  the  house  seemed  silent  and 
empty.  She  moved  to  the  door,  which  had 
now  swung  open  a  few  inches,  but  to  her  as- 
tonishment it  was  fixed  in  that  position,  and 
she  could  not  pass.  As  yet  she  had  been 
free  from  any  personal  fear,  and  even  now 
it  was  with  a  half  smile  at  her  imprisonment 
in  the  major's  study,  that  she  rang  the  bell 
and  turned  to  the  window.  A  man,  whom 
she  recognized  as  one  of  the  ranch  laborers, 
was  standing  a  hundred  feet  away  in  the 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT.    177 

garden,  looking  curiously  at  the  house.  He 
saw  her  face  as  she  tried  to  raise  the  sash, 
uttered  an  exclamation,  and  ran  forward. 
But  before  she  could  understand  what  he 
said,  the  sash  began  to  rattle  in  her  hand, 
the  jarring  recommenced,  the  floor  shook 
beneath  her  feet,  a  hideous  sound  of  grind- 
ing seemed  to  come  from  the  walls,  a  thin 
seam  of  dust-like  smoke  broke  from  the  ceil- 
ing, and  with  the  noise  of  falling  plaster  a 
dozen  books  followed  each  other  from  the 
shelves,  in  what  in  the  frantic  hurry  of  that 
moment  seemed  a  grimly  deliberate  succes- 
sion ;  a  picture  hanging  against  the  wall,  to 
her  dazed  wonder,  swung  forward,  and  ap- 
peared to  stand  at  right  angles  from  it ;  she 
felt  herself  reeling  against  the  furniture ;  a 
deadly  nausea  overtook  her  ;  as  she  glanced 
despairingly  towards  the  window,  the  out- 
lying fields  beyond  the  garden  seemed  to  be 
undulating  like  a  sea.  For  the  first  time 
she  raised  her  voice,  not  in  fear,  but  in  a 
pathetic  little  cry  of  apology  for  her  awk- 
wardness in  tumbling  about  and  not  being 
able  to  grapple  this  new  experience,  and 
then  she  found  herself  near  the  door,  which 
had  once  more  swung  free.  She  grasped  it 
eagerly,  and  darted  out  of  the  stud}'  into  the 


178     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT. 

deserted  passage.  Here  some  instinct  made 
her  follow  the  line  of  the  wall,  rather  than 
the  shaking  balusters  of  the  corridor  and 
staircase,  but  before  she  reached  the  bottom 
she  heard  a  shout,  and  the  farm  laborer  she 
had  seen  coming  towards  her  seized  her  by 
the  arm,  dragged  her  to  the  open  doorway 
of  the  drawing-room,  and  halted  beneath  its 
arch  in  the  wall.  Another  thrill,  but  lighter 
than  before,  passed  through  the  building, 
then  all  was  still  again. 

"  It 's  over ;  I  reckon  that 's  all  just  now," 
said  the  man,  coolly.  "  It 's  quite  safe  to 
cut  and  run  for  the  garden  now,  through 
this  window."  He  half  led,  half  lifted  her 
through  the  French  window  to  the  veranda 
and  the  ground,  and  locking  her  arm  in  his, 
ran  quickly  forward  a  hundred  feet  from  the 
house,  stopping  at  last  beneath  a  large  post 
oak  where  there  was  a  rustic  seat  into  which 
she  sank.  "  You  're  safe  now,  I  reckon," 
he  said  grimly. 

She  looked  towards  the  house ;  the  sun 
was  shining  brightly ;  a  cool  breeze  seemed 
to  have  sprung  up  as  they  ran.  She  could 
see  a  quantity  of  rubbish  lying  on  the  roof 
from  which  a  dozen  yards  of  zinc  gutter  were 
perilously  hanging ;  the  broken  shafts  of  the 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    179 

further  cluster  of  chimneys,  a  pile  of  bricks 
scattered  upon  the  ground  and  among  the 
battered  down  beams  of  the  end  of  the 
veranda  —  but  that  was  all.  She  lifted  her 
now  whitened  face  to  the  man,  and  with  the 
apologetic  smile  still  lingering  on  her  lips, 
asked  :  — 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  "What  has  hap- 
pened ?  " 

The  man  stared  at  her.  "  D'  ye  mean  to 
say  ye  don't  know?  " 

"  How  could  I  ?  They  must  have  all  left 
the  house  as  soon  as  it  began.  I  was  talking 
to  —  to  M.  I'Hommadieu,  and  he  suddenly 
left." 

The  man  brought  his  face  angrily  down 
within  an  inch  of  her  own.  "  D'  ye  mean  to 
say  that  them  d — d  French  half-breeds  stam- 
peded and  left  yer  there  alone  ?  " 

She  was  still  too  much  stupefied  by  the 
reaction  to  fully  comprehend  his  meaning, 
and  repeated  feebly  with  her  smile  still 
faintly  lingering :  "  But  you  don't  tell  me 
what  it  was  ?  " 

"  An  earthquake,"  said  the  man,  roughly, 
"  and  if  it  had  lasted  ten  seconds  longer  it 
would  have  shook  the  whole  shanty  down 
and  left  you  under  it.  Yer  kin  tell  that  to 


180    THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT. 

them,  if  they  don't  know  it,  but  from  the 
way  they  made  tracks  to  the  fields,  I  reckon 
they  did.  They  're  coming  now." 

Without  another  word  he  turned  away 
half  surlily,  half  defiantly,  passing  scarce 
fifty  yards  away  Mrs.  Randolph  and  her 
daughter,  who  were  hastening  towards  their 
guest. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are  !  "  said  Mrs.  Randolph, 
with  the  nearest  approach  to  effusion  that 
Rose  had  yet  seen  in  her  manner.  "  We 
were  wondering  where  you  had  run  to,  and 
were  getting  quite  concerned.  Emile  was 
looking  for  you  everywhere." 

The  recollection  of  his  blank  and  abject 
face,  his  vague  outcry  and  blind  fright,  came 
back  to  Rose  with  a  shock  that  sent  a  flash 
of  sympathetic  shame  to  her  face.  The 
ingenious  A  dele  noticed  it,  and  dutifully 
pinched  her  mother's  arm. 

"  Emile  ?  "  echoed  Rose  faintly  —  "  look- 
ing for  me?" 

Mother  and  daughter  exchanged  glances. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Randolph,  cheerfully, 
"  he  says  he  started  to  run  with  you,  but  you 
got  ahead  and  slipped  out  of  the  garden  door 
—  or  something  of  the  kind,"  she  added, 
with  the  air  of  making  light  of  Rose's  girlish 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    181 

fears.  "  You  know  one  scarcely  knows  what 
one  does  at  such  times,  and  it  must  have 
been  frightfully  strange  to  you  —  and  he  's 
been  quite  distracted,  lest  you  should  have 
wandered  away.  Adele,  run  and  tell  him 
Miss  Mallory  has  been  here  under  the  oak 
all  the  time." 

Rose  started  —  and  then  fell  hopelessly 
back  in  her  seat.  Perhaps  it  was  true ! 
Perhaps  he  had  not  rushed  off  with  that 
awful  face  and  without  a  word.  Perhaps  she 
herself  had  been  half-frightened  out  of  her 
reason.  In  the  simple,  weak  kindness  of 
her  nature  it  seemed  less  dreadful  to  believe 
that  the  fault  was  partly  her  own. 

"  And  you  went  back  into  the  house  to 
look  for  us  when  all  was  over,"  said  Mrs. 
Randolph,  fixing  her  black,  beady,  magnetic 
eyes  on  Rose,  "  and  that  stupid  yokel  Zake 
brought  you  out  again.  He  need  n't  have 
clutched  your  arm  so  closely,  my  dear,  —  I 
must  speak  to  the  major  about  his  excessive 
familiarity  —  but  I  suppose  I  shall  be  told 
that  that  is  American  freedom.  I  call  it '  a 
liberty.'  " 

It  struck  Rose  that  she  had  not  even 
thanked  the  man  —  in  the  same  flash  that 
she  remembered  something  dreadful  that  he 


182     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

had  said.  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  tried  to  recall  herself. 

Mrs.  Randolph  gently  tapped  her  shoul- 
der with  a  mixture  of  maternal  philosophy 
and  discipline,  and  continued :  "  Of  course, 
it 's  an  upset  —  and  you  're  confused  still. 
That 's  nothing.  They  say,  dear,  it 's  per- 
fectly well  known  that  no  two  people's  recol- 
lections of  these  things  ever  are  the  same. 
It 's  really  ridiculous  the  contradictory  sto- 
ries one  hears.  Is  n't  it,  Emile  ?  " 

Rose  felt  that  the  young  man  had  joined 
them  and  was  looking  at  her.  In  the  fear 
that  she  should  still  see  some  trace  of  the 
startled,  selfish  animal  in  his  face,  she  did 
not  dare  to  raise  her  eyes  to  his,  but  looked 
at  his  mother.  Mrs.  Randolph  was  stand- 
ing then,  collected  but  impatient. 

"It's  all  over  now."  said  Emile,  in  his 
usual  voice,  "  and  except  the  chimneys  and 
some  fallen  plaster  there 's  really  no  damage 
done.  But  I  'm  afraid  they  have  caught  it 
pretty  badly  at  the  mission,  and  at  San  Fran- 
cisco in  those  tall,  flashy,  rattle-trap  build- 
ings they  're  putting  up.  I  've  just  sent  off 
one  of  the  men  for  news." 

Her  father  was  in  San  Francisco  by  that 
time ;  and  she  had  never  thought  of  him  ! 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT.     183 

In  her  quick  remorse  she  now  forgot  all  else 
and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  I  must  telegraph  to  my  father  at  once," 
she  said  hurriedly  ;  "  he  is  there." 

"  You  had  better  wait  until  the  messenger 
returns  and  hear  his  news,"  said  Emile.  "  If 
the  shock  was  only  a  slight  one  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, your  father  might  not  understand  you, 
and  would  be  alarmed." 

She  could  see  his  face  now  —  there  was  no 
record  of  the  past  expression  upon  it,  but  he 
was  watching  her  eagerly.  Mrs.  Randolph 
and  Adele  had  moved  away  to  speak  to  the 
servants.  Emile  drew  nearer. 

"  You  surely  will  not  desert  us  now?"  he 
said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Please  don't,"  she  said  vaguely.  "  I  'in 
so  worried,"  and,  pushing  quickly  past  him, 
she  hurriedly  rejoined  the  two  women. 

They  were  superintending  the  erection  of 
a  long  tent  or  marquee  in  the  garden,  hastily 
extemporized  from  the  awnings  of  the  ve- 
randa and  other  cloth.  Mrs.  Randolph  ex- 
plained that,  although  all  danger  was  over, 
there  was  the  possibility  of  the  recurrence  of 
lighter  shocks  during  the  day  and  night,  and 
that  they  would  all  feel  much  more  secure 
and  comfortable  to  camp  out  for  the  next 
twenty-four  hours  in  the  open  air. 


184  THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT. 

"  Only  imagine  you  're  picnicking,  and 
you  '11  enjoy  it  as  most  people  usually  enjoy 
those  horrid  al  fresco  entertainments.  I 
don't  believe  there 's  the  slightest  real  neces- 
sity for  it,  but,"  she  added  in  a  lower  voice, 
"  the  Irish  and  Chinese  servants  are  so  de- 
moralized now,  they  would  n't  stay  indoors 
with  us.  It 's  a  common  practice  here,  I  be- 
lieve, for  a  day  or  two  after  the  shock,  and 
it  gives  time  to  put  things  right  again  and 
clear  up.  The  old,  one- storied,  Spanish  houses 
with  walls  three  feet  thick,  and  built"  round 
a  courtyard  or  patio,  were  much  safer.  It 's 
only  when  the  Americans  try  to  improve 
upon  the  old  order  of  things  with  their 
pinchbeck  shams  and  stucco  that  Providence 
interferes  like  this  to  punish  them." 

It  was  the  fact,  however,  that  Rose  was 
more  impressed  by  what  seemed  to  her  the 
absolute  indifference  of  Providence  in  the 
matter,  and  the  cool  resumption  by  Nature 
of  her  ordinary  conditions.  The  sky  above 
their  heads  was  as  rigidly  blue  as  ever,  and 
as  smilingly  monotonous  ;  the  distant  pros- 
pect, with  its  clear,  well-known  silhouettes, 
had  not  changed ;  the  crows  swung  on  lazy, 
deliberate  wings  over  the  grain  as  before  ; 
and  the  trade- wind  was  again  blowing  in  its 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    185 

quiet  persistency.  And  yet  she  knew  that 
something  had  happened  that  would  never 
again  make  her  enjoyment  of  the  prospect  the 
same  —  that  nothing  would  ever  be  as  it  was 
yesterday.  I  think  at  first  she  referred  only 
to  the  material  and  larger  phenomena,  and 
did  not  confound  this  revelation  of  the  inse- 
curity of  the  universe  with  her  experience 
of  man.  Yet  the  fact  also  remained  that 
to  the  conservative,  correct,  and,  as  she  be- 
lieved, secure  condition  to  which  she  had 
been  approximating,  all  her  relations  were 
rudely  shaken  and  upset.  It  really  seemed 
to  this  simple-minded  young  woman  that  the 
revolutionary  disturbance  of  settled  condi- 
tions might  have  as  Providential  an  origin 
as  the  "  Divine  Eight "  of  which  she  had 
heard  so  much. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN  her  desire  to  be  alone  and  to  evade  the 
now  significant  attentions  of  Emile,  she  took 
advantage  of  the  bustle  that  followed  the 
hurried  transfer  of  furniture  and  articles 
from  the  house  to  escape  through  the  garden 
to  the  outlying  fields.  Striking  into  one  of 
the  dusty  lanes  that  she  remembered,  she 
wandered  on  for  half  an  hour  until  her  pro- 
gress and  meditation  were  suddenly  arrested. 
She  had  come  upon  a  long  chasm  or  crack  in 
the  soil,  full  twenty  feet  wide  and  as  many 
in  depth,  crossing  her  path  at  right  angles. 
She  did  not  remember  having  seen  it  be- 
fore ;  the  track  of  wheels  went  up  to  its  pre- 
cipitous edge ;  she  could  see  the  track  on 
the  other  side,  but  the  hiatus  remained,  un- 
bridged  and  uncovered.  It  was  not  there 
yesterday.  She  glanced  right  and  left ;  the 
fissure  seemed  to  extend,  like  a  moat  or 
ditch,  from  the  distant  road  to  the  upland 
between  her  and  the  great  wheat  valley  be- 
low, from  which  she  was  shut  off.  An  odd 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    187 

sense  of  being  in  some  way  a  prisoner  con- 
fronted her.  She  drew  back  with  an  impa- 
tient start,  and  perhaps  her  first  real  sense 
of  indignation.  A  voice  behind  her,  which 
she  at  once  recognized,  scarcely  restored  her 
calmness. 

"  You  can't  get  across  there,  miss." 

She  turned.  It  was  the  young  inventor 
from  the  wheat  ranch,  on  horseback  and  with 
a  clean  face.  He  had  just  ridden  out  of  the 
grain  on  the  same  side  of  the  chasm  as  her- 
self. 

"But  you  seem  to  have  got  over,''  she 
said  bluntly. 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  further  up  the  field.  I 
reckoned  that  the  split  might  be  deeper  but 
not  so  broad  in  the  rock  outcrop  over  there 
than  in  the  adobe  here.  I  found  it  so  and 
jumped  it." 

He  looked  as  if  he  might  —  alert,  intelli- 
gent, and  self-contained.  He  lingered  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  continued  :  — 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  must  have  been  badly 
shaken  and  a  little  frightened  up  there  be- 
fore the  chimneys  came  down  ?  " 

"No,"  she  was  glad  to  say  briefly,  and 
she  believed  truthfully,  "  I  was  n't  fright- 
ened. I  did  n't  even  know  it  was  an  earth- 
quake." 


188     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

"  All !  "  he  reflected,  "  that  was  because 
you  were  a  stranger.  It 's  odd  —  they  're 
all  like  that.  I  suppose  it 's  because  nobody 
really  expects  or  believes  in  the  unlooked-for 
thing,  and  yet  that 's  the  thing  that  always 
happens.  And  then,  of  course,  that  other 
affair,  which  really  is  serious,  startled  you 
the  more." 

She  felt  herself  ridiculously  and  angrily 
blushing.  "  I  don't  know  what  you  mean," 
she  said  icily.  "  What  other  affair  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  well." 

"  The  well  ?  "  she  repeated  vacantly. 

"Yes;  the  artesian  well  has  stopped. 
Did  n't  the  major  tell  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  girl.  "  He  was  away ;  I 
have  n't  seen  him  yet." 

"  Well,  the  flow  of  water  has  ceased  com- 
pletely. That  's  what  I  'm  here  for.  The 
major  sent  for  me,  and  I  've  been  to  exam- 
ine it." 

"And  is  that  stoppage  so  very  impor- 
tant ?  "  she  said  dubiously. 

It  was  his  turn  to  look  at  her  wonder- 
ingly. 

"  If  it  's  lost  entirely,  it  means  ruin  for 
the  ranch,"  he  said  sharply.  He  wheeled 
his  horse,  nodded  gravely,  and  trotted  off. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT.    189 

Major  Randolph's  figure  of  the  "  life- 
blood  of  the  ranch  "  flashed  across  her  sud- 
denly. She  knew  nothing  of  irrigation  or 
the  costly  appliances  by  which  the  Califor- 
nian  agriculturist  opposed  the  long  summer 
droughts.  She  only  vaguely  guessed  that 
the  dreadful  earthquake  had  struck  at  the 
prosperity  of  those  people  whom  only  a  few 
hours  ago  she  had  been  proud  to  call  her 
friends.  The  underlying  goodness  of  her 
nature  was  touched.  Should  she  let  a  mo- 
mentary fault  —  if  it  were  not  really,  after 
all,  only  a  misunderstanding  —  rise  between 
her  and  them  at  such  a  moment?  She 
turned  and  hurried  quickly  towards  the 
house. 

Hastening  onward,  she  found  time,  how- 
ever, to  wonder  also  why  these  common  men 
—  she  now  included  even  the  young  inventor 
in  that  category  —  were  all  so  rude  and  un- 
civil to  her!  She  had  never  before  been 
treated  in  this  way ;  she  had  always  been 
rather  embarrassed  by  the  admiring  atten- 
tions of  young  men  (clerks  and  collegians) 
in  her  Atlantic  home,  and  of  professional 
men  (merchants  and  stockbrokers)  in  San 
Francisco.  It  was  true  that  they  were  not 
as  continually  devoted  to  her  and  to  the  nice 


190     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

art  and  etiquette  of  pleasing  as  Emile,  — 
they  had  other  things  to  think  about,  being 
in  business  and  not  being  gentlemen,  —  but 
then  they  were  greatly  superior  to  these 
clowns,  who  took  no  notice  of  her,  and  rode 
off  without  lingering  or  formal  leave-taking 
when  their  selfish  affairs  were  concluded. 
It  must  be  the  contact  of  the  vulgar  earth 
—  this  wretched,  cracking,  material,  and  yet 
ungovernable  and  lawless  earth  —  that  so 
depraved  them.  She  felt  she  would  like  to 
say  this  to  some  one  —  not  her  father,  for  he 
would  n't  listen  to  her,  nor  to  the  major, 
who  would  laughingly  argue  with  her,  but 
to  Mrs.  Randolph,  who  would  understand 
her,  and  perhaps  say  it  some  day  in  her  own 
sharp,  sneering  way  to  these  very  clowns. 
With  those  gentle  sentiments  irradiating  her 
blue  eyes,  and  putting  a  pink  flush  upon  her 
fair  cheeks,  Rose  reached  the  garden  with 
the  intention  of  rushing  sympathetically  into 
Mrs.  Randolph's  arms.  But  it  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  her  that  she  would  be  obliged  to 
state  how  she  became  aware  of  this  misfor- 
tune, and  with  it  came  an  instinctive  aver- 
sion to  speak  of  her  meeting  with  the  inven- 
tor. She  would  wait  until  Mrs.  Randolph 
told  her.  But  although  that  lady  was  en- 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.     191 

gaged  in  a  low-voiced  discussion  in  French 
with  Emile  and  Adele,  which  instantly 
ceased  at  her  approach,  there  was  no  allu- 
sion made  to  the  new  calamity.  "  You 
need  not  telegraph  to  your  father,"  she  said 
as  Rose  approached,  "he  has  already  tele- 
graphed to  you  for  news ;  as  you  were  out, 
and  the  messenger  was  waiting  an  answer, 
we  opened  the  dispatch,  and  sent  one,  tell- 
ing him  that  you  were  all  right,  and  that  he 
need  not  hurry  here  on  your  account.  So 
you  are  satisfied,  I  hope."  A  few  hours  ago 
this  would  have  been  true,  and  Rose  would 
have  probably  seen  in  the  action  of  her  host- 
ess only  a  flattering  motherly  supervision  ; 
there  was,  in  fact,  still  a  lingering  trace  of 
trust  in  her  mind ;  yet  she  was  conscious 
that  she  would  have  preferred  to  answer  the 
dispatch  herself,  and  to  have  let  her  father 
come.  To  a  girl  brought  up  with  a  belief 
in  the  right  of  individual  independence  of 
thought  and  action,  there  was  something  in 
Mrs.  Randolph's  practical  ignoring  of  that 
right  which  startled  her  in  spite  of  her  new 
conservatism,  while,  as  the  daughter  of  a 
business  man,  her  instincts  revolted  against 
Mrs.  Randolph's  unbusinesslike  action  with 
the  telegram,  however  vulgar  and  unrefined 


192     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT. 

she  may  have  begun  to  consider  a  life  of 
business.  The  result  was  a  certain  con- 
straint and  embarrassment  in  her  manner, 
which,  however,  had  the  laudable  effect  of 
limiting  Emile's  attention  to  significant 
glances,  and  was  no  doubt  variously  inter- 
preted by  the  others.  But  she  satisfied  her 
conscience  by  determining  to  make  a  con- 
fidence of  her  sympathy  to  the  major  on 
the  first  opportunity. 

This  she  presently  found  when  the  others 
were  preoccupied  ;  the  major  greeting  her 
with  a  somewhat  careworn  face,  but  a  voice 
whose  habitual  kindness  was  unchanged. 
When  he  had  condoled  with  her  on  the  ter- 
rifying phenomenon  that  had  marred  her 
visit  to  the  ranch,  —  and  she  could  not  help 
impatiently  noticing  that  he  too  seemed  to 
have  accepted  his  wife's  theory  that  she  had 
been  half  deliriously  frightened,  —  he  re- 
gretted that  her  father  had  not  concluded 
to  come  down  to  the  ranch,  as  his  practical 
advice  would  have  been  invaluable  in  this 
emergency.  She  was  about  to  eagerly  ex- 
plain why,  when  it  occurred  to  her  that  Mrs. 
Randolph  had  only  given  him  a  suppressed 
version  of  the  telegram,  and  that  she  would 
be  betraying  her,  or  again  taking  sides  in 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.     193 

this  partisan  divided  home.  With  some 
hesitation  she  at  last  alluded  to  the  accident 
to  the  artesian  well.  The  major  did  not  ask 
her  how  she  had  heard  of  it ;  it  was  a  bad 
business,  he  thought,  but  it  might  not  be  a 
total  loss.  The  water  may  have  been  only 
diverted  by  the  shock  and  might  be  found 
again  at  the  lower  level,  or  in  some  lateral 
fissure.  He  had  sent  hurriedly  for  Tom 
Bent  —  that  clever  young  engineer  at  the 
wheat  ranch,  who  was  always  studying  up 
these  things  with  his  inventions  —  and  that 
was  his  opinion.  No,  Tom  was  not  a  well- 
digger,  but  it  was  generally  known  that  he 
had  "located"  one  or  two,  and  had  long  ago 
advised  the  tapping  of  that  flow  by  a  second 
boring,  in  case  of  just  such  an  emergency. 
He  was  coming  again  to-morrow.  By  the 
way,  he  had  asked  how  the  young  lady  visi- 
tor was,  and  hoped  she  had  not  been  alarmed 
by  the  earthquake ! 

Rose  felt  herself  again  blushing,  and,  what 
was  more  singular,  with  an  unexpected  and 
it  seemed  to  her  ridiculous  pleasure,  although 
outwardly  she  appeared  to  ignore  the  civility 
completely.  And  she  had  no  intention  of 
being  so  easily  placated.  If  this  young  man 
thought  by  mere  perfunctory  civilities  to  her 


194     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

host  to  make  up  for  his  clownishness  to  her, 
he  was  mistaken.  She  would  let  him  see  it 
when  he  called  to-morrow.  She  quickly 
turned  the  subject  by  assuring  the  major  of 
her  sympathy  and  her  intention  of  sending 
for  her  father.  For  the  rest  of  the  after- 
noon and  during  their  al  fresco  dinner  she 
solved  the  difficulty  of  her  strained  relations 
with  Mrs.  Randolph  and  Emile  by  convers- 
ing chiefly  with  the  major,  tacitly  avoiding, 
however,  any  allusion  to  this  Mr.  Bent. 
But  Mrs.  Randolph  was  less  careful. 

"  You  don't  really  mean  to  say,  major," 
she  began  in  her  dryest,  grittiest  manner, 
"  that  instead  of  sending  to  San  Francisco 
for  some  skilled  master-mechanic,  you  are 
going  to  listen  to  the  vagaries  of  a  conceited, 
half-educated  farm-laborer,  and  employ  him  ? 
You  might  as  well  call  in  some  of  those 
wizards  or  water-witches  at  once."  But  the 
major,  like  many  other  well-managed  hus- 
bands who  are  good-humoredly  content  to 
suffer  in  the  sunshine  of  prosperity,  had  no 
idea  of  doing  so  in  adversity,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  being  obliged  to  go  back  to  youthful 
struggles  had  recalled  some  of  the  indepen- 
dence of  that  period.  He  looked  up  quietly, 
and  said :  — 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    195 

"  If  his  conclusions  are  as  clear  and  satis- 
factory to-morrow  as  they  were  to-day,  I  shall 
certainly  try  to  secure  his  services." 

"  Then  I  can  only  say  I  would  prefer  the 
water- witch.  He  at  least  would  not  repre- 
sent a  class  of  neighbors  who  have  made 
themselves  systematically  uncivil  and  dis- 
agreeable to  us." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Josephine,  we  have  not 
tried  to  make  ourselves  particularly  agree- 
able to  them"  said  the  major. 

"  If  that  can  only  be  done  by  admitting 
their  equality,  I  prefer  they  should  remain 
uncivil.  Only  let  it  be  understood,  major, 
that  if  you  choose  to  take  this  Torn-the- 
ploughboy  to  mend  your  well,  you  will  at 
least  keep  him  there  while  he  is  on  the 
property." 

With  what  retort  the  major  would  have 
kept  up  this  conjugal  discussion,  already  be- 
ginning to  be  awkward  to  the  discreet  visitor, 
is  not  known,  as  it  was  suddenly  stopped  by 
a  bullet  from  the  rosebud  lips  of  the  ingen- 
uous Adele. 

"  Why,  he  's  very  handsome  when  his  face 
is  clean,  and  his  hands  are  small  and  not  at 
all  hard.  And  he  does  n't  talk  the  least  bit 
queer  or  common." 


196     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  "  And  pray 
where  did  you  see  him,  and  what  do  you 
know  about  his  hands?"  asked  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph, in  her  most  desiccated  voice.  "  Or 
has  the  major  already  presented  you  to  him  ? 
I  should  n't  be  surprised." 

"  No,  but "  -  hesitated  the  young  girl, 
with  a  certain  mouse-like  audacity,  —  "  when 
you  sent  me  to  look  after  Miss  Mallory,  I 
came  up  to  him  just  after  he  had  spoken  to 
her,  and  he  stopped  to  ask  me  how  we  all 
were,  and  if  Miss  Mallory  was  really  fright- 
ened by  the  earthquake,  and  he  shook  hands 
for  good  afternoon  —  that 's  all." 

"  And  who  taught  you  to  converse  with 
common  strangers  and  shake  hands  with 
them  ?  "  continued  Mrs.  Randolph,  with  nar- 
rowing lips. 

"  Nobody,  mamma ;  but  I  thought  if  Miss 
Mallory,  who  is  a  young  lady,  could  speak  to 
him,  so  could  I,  who  am  not  out  yet." 

"  We  won't  discuss  this  any  further  at 
present,"  said  Mrs.  Randolph,  stiffly,  as  the 
major  smiled  grimly  at  Rose.  "  The  earth- 
quake seems  to  have  shaken  down  in  this 
house  more  than  the  chimneys." 

It  certainly  had  shaken  all  power  of  sleep 
from  the  eyes  of  Rose  when  the  household 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT.     197 

at  last  dispersed  to  lie  down  in  their  clothes 
on  the  mattresses  which  had  been  arranged 
under  the  awnings.  She  was  continually 
starting  up  from  confused  dreams  of  the 
ground  shaking  under  her,  or  she  seemed  to 
be  standing  on  the  brink  of  some  dreadful 
abyss  like  the  great  chasm  on  the  grain-field, 
when  it  began  to  tremble  and  crumble  be- 
neath her  feet.  It  was  near  morning  when, 
unable  to  endure  it  any  longer,  she  managed 
without  disturbing  the  sleeping  Adele,  who 
occupied  the  same  curtained  recess  with  her, 
to  slip  out  from  the  awning.  Wrapped  in  a 
thick  shawl,  she  made  her  way  through  the 
encompassing  trees  and  bushes  of  the  gar- 
den that  had  seemed  to  imprison  and  suffo- 
cate her,  to  the  edge  of  the  grain-field,  where 
she  could  breathe  the  fresh  air  beneath  an 
open,  starlit  sky.  There  was  no  moon  and 
the  darkness  favored  her ;  she  had  no  fears 
that  weighed  against  the  horror  of  seclusion 
with  her  own  fancies.  Besides,  they  were 
camping  out  of  the  house,  and  if  she  chose 
to  sit  up  or  walk  about,  no  one  could  think 
it  strange.  She  wished  her  father  were  here 
that  she  might. have  some  one  of  her  own 
kin  to  talk  to,  yet  she  knew  not  what  to  say 
to  him  if  he  had  come.  She  wanted  some- 


198     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT. 

body  to  sympathize  with  her  feelings,  —  or 
rather,  perhaps,  some  one  to  combat  and 
even  ridicule  the  uneasiness  that  had  lately 
come  over  her  She  knew  what  her  father 
would  say,  —  "  Do  you  want  to  go,  or  do  you 
want  to  stay  here  ?  Do  you  like  these  people, 
or  do  you  not  ?  "  She  remembered  the  one 
or  two  glowing  and  enthusiastic  accounts  she 
had  written  him  of  her  visit  here,  and  felt 
herself  blushing  again.  What  would  he 
think  of  Mrs.  Randolph's  opening  and  an- 
swering the  telegram  ?  Would  n't  he  find 
out  from  the  major  if  she  had  garbled  the 
sense  of  his  dispatch  ? 

Away  to  the  right,  in  the  midst  of  the  dis- 
tant and  invisible  wheat-field,  there  was  the 
same  intermittent  star,  which  like  a  living, 
breathing  thing  seemed  to  dilate  in  glowing 
respiration,  as  she  had  seen  it  the  first  night 
of  her  visit.  Mr.  Bent's  forge  !  It  must 
be  nearly  daylight  now ;  the  poor  fellow  had 
been  up  all  night,  or  else  was  stealing  this 
early  march  on  the  day.  She  recalled 
Adele's  sudden  eulogium  of  him.  The  first 
natural  smile  that  had  come  to  her  lips  since 
the  earthquake  broke  up. her  nervous  re- 
straint, and  sent  her  back  more  like  her  old 
self  to  her  couch. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    199 

But  she  had  not  proceeded  far  towards  the 
tent,  when  she  heard  the  sound  of  low  voices 
approaching  her.  It  was  the  major  and  his 
wife,  who,  like  herself,  had  evidently  been 
unable  to  sleep,  and  were  up  betimes.  A 
new  instinct  of  secretiveness,  which  she  felt 
was  partly  the  effect  of  her  artificial  sur- 
rounding, checked  her  first  natural  instinct 
to  call  to  them,  and  she  drew  back  deeper  in 
the  shadow  to  let  them  pass.  But  to  her 
great  discomfiture  the  major  in  a  conversa- 
tional emphasis  stopped  directly  in  front  of 
her. 

"  You  are  wrong,  I  tell  you,  a  thousand 
times  wrong.  The  girl  is  simply  upset  by 
this  earthquake.  It 's  a  great  pity  her  fa- 
ther did  n't  come  instead  of  telegraphing. 
And  by  Jove,  rather  than  hear  any  more  of 
this,  I  '11  send  for  him  myself,"  said  the 
major,  in  an  energetic  but  suppressed  voice. 

"  And  the  girl  won't  thank  you,  and  you  '11 
be  a  fool  for  your  pains,"  returned  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph, with  dry  persistency. 

"  But  according  to  your  own  ideas  of  pro- 
priety, Mallory  ought  to  be  the  first  one  to 
be  consulted  —  and  by  me,  too." 

"  Not  in  this  case.  Of  course,  before  any 
actual  engagement  is  on,  you  can  speak  of 
Emile's  attentions." 


200  THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT. 

"  But  suppose  Mallory  has  other  views. 
Suppose  he  declines  the  honor.  The  man  is 
no  fool." 

"Thank  you.  But  for  that  very  reason 
he  must.  Listen  to  me,  major;  if  he 
does  n't  care  to  please  his  daughter  for  her 
own  sake,  he  will  have  to  do  so  for  the  sake 
of  decency.  Yes,  I  tell  you,  she  has  thor- 
oughly compromised  herself  —  quite  enough, 
if  it  is  ever  known,  to  spoil  any  other  en- 
gagement her  father  may  make.  Why,  ask 
Adele !  The  day  of  the  earthquake  she  ab- 
solutely had  the  audacity  to  send  him  out  of 
the  room  upstairs  into  your  study  for  her 
fan,  and  then  follow  him  up  there  alone. 
The  servants  knew  it.  I  knew  it,  for  I  was 
in  her  room  at  the  time  with  Father  Antonio. 
The  earthquake  made  it  plain  to  everybody. 
Decline  it!  No.  Mr.  Mallory  will  think 
twice  about  it  before  he  does  that.  What 's 
that?  Who's  there?" 

There  was  a  sudden  rustle  in  the  bushes 
like  the  passage  of  some  frightened  animal 
—  and  then  all  was  still  again. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  sun,  an  hour  high,  but  only  just 
topping  the  greenish  crests  of  the  wheat, 
was  streaming  like  the  morning  breeze 
through  the  open  length  of  Tom  Bent's 
workshed.  An  exaggerated  and  prolonged 
shadow  of  the  young  inventor  himself  at 
work  beside  his  bench  was  stretching  itself 
far  into  the  broken-down  ranks  of  stalks  to- 
wards the  invisible  road,  and  falling  at  the 
very  feet  of  Rose  Mallory  as  she  emerged 
from  them. 

She  was  very  pale,  very  quiet,  and  very 
determined.  The  traveling  mantle  thrown 
over  her  shoulders  was  dusty,  the  ribbons 
that  tied  her  hat  under  her  round  chin  had 
become  unloosed.  She  advanced,  walking 
down  the  line  of  shadow  directly  towards 
him. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  will  have  to  trouble  you 
once  more,"  she  said  with  a  faint  smile, 
which  did  not,  however,  reach  her  perplexed 
eyes.  "  Could  you  give  me  any  kind  of  a 


202     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

conveyance  that  would  take  me  to  San  Jose 
at  once  ?  " 

The  young  man  had  started  at  the  rustling 
of  her  dress  in  the  shavings,  and  turned 
eagerly.  The  faintest  indication  of  a  loss 
of  interest  was  visible  for  an  instant  in  his 
face,  but  it  quickly  passed  into  a  smile  of 
recognition.  Yet  she  felt  that  he  had  nei- 
ther noticed  any  change  in  her  appearance, 
nor  experienced  any  wonder  at  seeing  her 
there  at  that  hour. 

"  I  did  not  take  a  buggy  from  the  house," 
she  went  on  quickly,  "  for  I  left  early,  and 
did  not  want  to  disturb  them.  In  fact,  they 
don't  know  that  I  am  gone.  I  was  worried 
at  not  hearing  news  from  my  father  in 
San  Francisco  since  the  earthquake,  and  I 
thought  I  would  run  down  to  San  Jose  to 
inquire  without  putting  them  to  any  trouble. 
Anything  will  do  that  you  have  ready,  if  I 
can  take  it  at  once." 

Still  without  exhibiting  the  least  surprise, 
Bent  nodded  affirmatively,  put  down  his 
tools,  begged  her  to  wait  a  moment,  and  ran 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  cabin.  As  he  dis- 
appeared behind  the  wheat,  she  lapsed  quite 
suddenly  against  the  work  bench,  but  recov- 
ered herself  a  moment  later,  leaning  with 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    203 

her  back  against  it,  her  hands  grasping  it  on 
either  side,  and  her  knit  brows  and  deter- 
mined little  face  turned  towards  the  road. 
Then  she  stood  erect  again,  shook  the  dust 
out  of  her  skirts,  lifted  her  veil,  wiped  her 
cheeks  and  brow  with  the  corner  of  a  small 
handkerchief,  and  began  walking  up  and 
down  the  length  of  the  shed  as  Bent  reap- 
peared. 

He  was  accompanied  by  the  man  who  had 
first  led  her  through  the  wheat.  He  gazed 
upon  her  with  apparently  all  the  curiosity 
and  concern  that  the  other  had  lacked. 

"  You  want  to  get  to  San  Jose  as  quick  as 
you  can?"  he  said  interrogatively. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  quickly,  "  if  you  can  help 
me." 

"  You  walked  all  the  way  from  the  major's 
here  ?  "  he  continued,  without  taking  his 
eyes  from  her  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  with  an  affectation 
of  carelessness  she  had  not  shown  to  Bent. 
"  But  I  started  very  early,  it  was  cool  and 
pleasant,  and  did  n't  seem  far." 

"  I  '11  put  you  down  in  San  Jose  inside 
the  hour.  You  shall  have  my  horse  and 
trotting  sulky,  and  I  '11  drive  you  myself. 
Will  that  do?" 


204     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  She  had 
not  forgotten  his  previous  restraint  and  grav- 
ity, but  now  his  face  seemed  to  have  relaxed 
with  some  humorous  satisfaction.  She  felt 
herself  coloring  slightly,  but  whether  with 
shame  or  relief  she  could  not  tell. 

"  I  shall  be  so  much  obliged  to  you,"  she 
replied  hesitatingly,  "  and  so  will  my  father, 
I  know." 

"  I  reckon,"  said  the  man  with  the  same 
look  of  amused  conjecture ;  then,  with  a 
quick,  assuring  nod,  he  turned  away,  and 
dived  into  the  wheat  again. 

"You  're  all  right  now,  Miss  Mallory," 
said  Bent,  complacently.  "  Dawson  will  fix 
it.  He  's  got  a  good  horse,  and  he  's  a  good 
driver,  too."  He  paused,  and  then  added 
pleasantly,  "  I  suppose  they  're  all  well  up 
at  the  house  ?  " 

It  was  so  evident  that  his  remark  carried 
no  personal  meaning  to  herself  that  she  was 
obliged  to  answer  carelessly,  "  Oh,  yes." 

"  I  suppose  you  see  a  good  deal  of  Miss 
Randolph  —  Miss  Adele,  I  think  you  call 
her  ?  "  he  remarked  tentatively,  and  with  a 
certain  boyish  enthusiasm,  which  she  had 
never  conceived  possible  to  his  nature. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  a  little  dryly,  "  she  is 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    205 

the  only  young  lady  there."  She  stopped, 
remembering  Adele's  nai've  description  of 
the  man  before  her,  and  said  abruptly, 
"  You  know  her,  then  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  replied  the  young  man,  mod- 
estly. "I  see  her  pretty  often  when  I  am 
passing  the  upper  end  of  the  ranch.  She  's 
very  well  brought  up,  and  her  manners  are 
very  refined  —  don't  you  think  so  ?  —  and 
yet  she 's  just  as  simple  and  natural  as  a 
country  girl.  There  's  a  great  deal  in  edu- 
cation after  all,  is  n't  there  ?  "  he  went  on 
confidentially,  "  and  although  "  —  he  low- 
ered his  voice  and  looked  cautiously  around 
him  —  "I  believe  that  some  of  us  here  don't 
fancy  her  mother  much,  there 's  no  doubt 
that  Mrs.  Randolph  knows  how  to  bring  up 
her  children.  Some  people  think  that  kind 
of  education  is  all  artificial,  and  don't  be- 
lieve in  it,  but  /do !  " 

With  the  consciousness  that  she  was  run- 
ning away  from  these  people  and  the  shame- 
ful disclosure  she  had  heard  last  night  — 
with  the  recollection  of  Adele's  scandalous 
interpretation  of  her  most  innocent  actions 
and  her  sudden  and  complete  revulsion 
against  all  that  she  had  previously  admired 
in  that  household,  to  hear  this  man  who  had 


206     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

seemed  to  her  a  living  protest  against  their 
ideas  and  principles,  now  expressing  them 
and  holding  them  up  for  emulation,  almost 
took  her  breath  away. 

"  I  suppose  that  means  you  intend  to  fix 
Major  Randolph's  well  for  him  ?  "  she  said 
dryly. 

"  Yes,"  he  returned  without  noticing  her 
manner ,-  "  and  I  think  I  can  find  that  water 
again.  I  've  been  studying  it  up  all  night, 
and  do  you  know  what  I'm  going  to  do? 
I  am  going  to  make  the  earthquake  that  lost 
it  help  me  to  find  it  again."  He  paused, 
and  looked  at  her  with  a  smile  and  a  return 
of  his  former  enthusiasm.  "  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  crack  in  the  adobe  field  that  stopped 
you  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  slight  shiver. 

"  I  told  you  then  that  the  same  crack  was 
a  split  in  the  rock  outcrop  further  up  the 
plain,  and  was  deeper.  I  am  satisfied  now, 
from  what  I  have  seen,  that  it  is  really  a  rup- 
ture of  the  whole  strata  all  the  way  down. 
That 's  the  one  weak  point  that  the  impris- 
oned water  is  sure  to  find,  and  that 's  where 
the  borer  will  tap  it  —  in  the  new  well  that 
the  earthquake  itself  has  sunk." 

It  seemed  to  her  now  that  she  understood 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT.     207 

his  explanation  perfectly,  and  she  wondered 
the  more  that  he  had  been  so  mistaken  in 
his  estimate  of  Adele.  She  turned  away  a 
little  impatiently  and  looked  anxiously  to- 
wards the  point  where  Dawson  had  disap- 
peared. Bent  followed  her  eyes. 

"  He  '11  be  here  in  a  moment,  Miss  Mai- 
lory.  He  has  to  drive  slowly  through  the 
grain,  but  I  hear  the  wheels."  He  stopped, 
and  his  voice  took  up  its  previous  note  of 
boyish  hesitation.  "  By  the  way  —  I  '11  — 
I  '11  be  going  up  to  the  Kancho  this  after- 
noon to  see  the  major.  Have  you  any  mes- 
sage for  Mrs.  Randolph  —  or  for  —  for  Miss 
Adele?" 

44  No  "  -  said  Rose,  hesitatingly,  "  and  — 
and  "  — 

"  I  see,"  interrupted  Bent,  carelessly. 
"  You  don't  want  anything  said  about  your 
coming  here.  I  won't." 

It  struck  her  that  he  seemed  to  have  no 
ulterior  meaning  in  the  suggestion.  But 
before  she  could  make  any  reply,  Dawson 
reappeared,  driving  a  handsome  mare  har- 
nessed to  a  light,  spider-like  vehicle.  He 
had  also  assumed,  evidently  in  great  haste,  a 
black  frock  coat  buttoned  over  his  waistcoat- 
less  and  cravatless  shirt,  and  a  tall  black  hat 


208     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

that  already  seemed  to  be  cracking  in  the 
sunlight.  He  drove  up,  at  once  assisted  her 
to  the  narrow  perch  beside  him,  and  with  a 
nod  to  Bent  drove  off.  His  breathless  ex- 
pedition relieved  the  leave-taking  of  these 
young  people  of  any  ceremony. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Dawson,  giving  a 
half  glance  over  his  shoulder  as  they  struck 
into  the  dusty  highway,  —  "I  suppose  you 
don't  care  to  see  anybody  before  you  get  to 
San  Jose  ?  " 

"  No-o-o,"  said  Rose,  timidly. 
"And  I  reckon  you  wouldn't  mind  my 
racin'  a  bit  if  anybody  kern  up  ?  " 
"No." 

"  The  mare  's  sort  o'  fastidious  about  tak- 
in'  anybody's  dust." 

"  Is  she  ?  "  said  Rose,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  Awful,"  responded  her  companion ;  "  and 
the  queerest  thing  of  all  is,  she  can't  bear  to 
have  any  one  behind  her,  either." 

He  leaned  forward  with  his  expression  of 
humorous  enjoyment  of  some  latent  joke  and 
did  something  with  the  reins  —  Rose  never 
could  clearly  understand  what,  though  it 
seemed  to  her  that  he  simply  lifted  them 
with  ostentatious  lightness;  but  the  mare 
suddenly  seemed  to  lengthen  herself  and  lose 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    209 

her  height,  and  the  stalks  of  wheat  on  either 
side  of  the  dusty  track  began  to  melt  into 
each  other,  and  then  slipped  like  a  flash 
into  one  long,  continuous,  shimmering  green 
hedge.  So  perfect  was  the  mare's  action 
that  the  girl  was  scarcely  conscious  of  any 
increased  effort ;  so  harmonious  the  whole 
movement  that  the  light  skeleton  wagon 
seemed  only  a  prolonged  process  of  that  long, 
slim  body  and  free,  collarless  neck,  both 
straight  as  the  thin  shafts  on  each  side  and 
straighter  than  the  delicate  ribbon-like  traces 
which,  in  what  seemed  a  mere  affectation  of 
conscious  power,  hung  at  times  almost  limp 
between  the  whiffie-tree  and  the  narrow  breast 
band  which  was  all  that  confined  the  an- 
imal's powerful  fore-quarters.  So  superb 
was  the  reach  of  its  long  easy  stride  that 
Rose  could  scarcely  see  any  undulations  in 
the  brown  shining  back  on  which  she  could 
have  placed  her  foot,  nor  felt  the  soft  beat 
of  the  delicate  hoofs  that  took  the  dust  so 
firmly  and  yet  so  lightly. 

The  rapidity  of  motion  which  kept  them 
both  with  heads  bent  forward  and  seemed  to 
force  back  any  utterance  that  rose  to  their 
lips  spared  Rose  the  obligation  of  conversa- 
tion, and  her  companion  was  equally  reti- 


210     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

cent.  But  it  was  evident  to  her  that  he  half 
suspected  she  was  running  away  from  the 
Randolphs,  and  that  she  wished  to  avoid  the 
embarrassment  of  being  overtaken  even  in 
persuasive  pursuit.  It  was  not  possible  that 
he  knew  the  cause  of  her  flight,  and  yet  she 
could  not  account  for  his  evident  desire  to 
befriend  her,  nor,  above  all,  for  his  appar- 
ently humorous  enjoyment  of  the  situation. 
Had  he  taken  it  gravely,  she  might  have 
been  tempted  to  partly  confide  in  him  and 
ask  his  advice.  Was  she  doing  right,  after 
all?  Ought  she  not  to  have  stayed  long 
enough  to  speak  her  mind  to  Mrs.  Randolph 
and  demand  to  be  sent  home  ?  No !  She 
had  not  only  shrunk  from  repeating  the  in- 
famous slander  she  had  overheard,  but  she 
had  a  terrible  fear  that  if  she  had  done  so, 
Mrs.  Randolph  was  capable  of  denying  it,  or 
even  charging  her  of  being  still  under  the 
influence  of  the  earthquake  shock  and  of 
walking  in  her  sleep.  No !  She  could  not 
trust  her  —  she  could  trust  no  one  there. 
Had  not  even  the  major  listened  to  those  in- 
famous lies?  Had  she  not  seen  that  he  was 
helpless  in  the  hands  of  this  cabal  in  his  own 
household?  —  a  cabal  that  she  herself  had 
thoughtlessly  joined  against  him. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT.    211 

They  had  reached  the  first  slight  ascent. 
Her  companion  drew  out  his  watch,  looked 
at  it  with  satisfaction,  and  changed  the  posi- 
tion of  his  hands  on  the  reins.  Without 
being  able  to  detect  the  difference,  she  felt 
they  were  slackening  speed.  She  turned  in- 
quiringly towards  him  ;  he  nodded  his  head, 
with  a  half  smile  and  a  gesture  to  her  to 
look  ahead.  The  spires  of  San  Jose  were 
already  faintly  uplifting  from  the  distant 
fringe  of  oaks. 

So  soon !  In  fifteen  minutes  she  would 
be  there  —  and  then  !  She  remembered 
suddenly  she  had  not  yet  determined  what 
to  do.  Should  she  go  on  at  once  to  San 
Francisco,  or  telegraph  to  her  father  and 
await  him  at  San  Jose  ?  In  either  case  a 
new  fear  of  the  precipitancy  of  her  action 
and  the  inadequacy  of  her  reasons  had 
sprung  up  in  her  mind.  Would  her  father 
understand  her?  Would  he  underrate  the 
cause  and  be  mortified  at  the  insult  she  had 
given  the  family  of  his  old  friend,  or,  more 
dreadful  still,  would  he  exaggerate  her 
wrongs  and  seek  a  personal  quarrel  with  the 
major.  He  was  a  man  of  quick  temper,  and 
had  the  Western  ideas  of  redress.  Perhaps 
even  now  she  was  precipitating  a  duel  be- 


212  THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT. 

tween  them.  Her  cheeks  grew  wan  again, 
her  breath  came  quickly,  tears  gathered  in 
her  eyes.  Oh,  she  was  a  dreadful  girl,  she 
knew  it ;  she  was  an  utterly  miserable  one, 
and  she  knew  that  too ! 

The  reins  were  tightened.  The  pace  les- 
sened and  at  last  fell  to  a  walk.  Conscious 
of  her  telltale  eyes  and  troubled  face,  she 
dared  not  turn  to  her  companion  to  ask  him 
why,  but  glanced  across  the  fields. 

"  When  you  first  came  I  did  n't  get  to 
know  your  name,  Miss  Mallory,  but  I  reckon 
I  know  your  father." 

Her  father !  What  made  him  say  that  ? 
She  wanted  to  speak,  but  she  felt  she  could 
not.  In  another  moment,  if  he  went  on,  she 
must  do  something  —  she  would  cry ! 

"  I  reckon  you  '11  be  wanting  to  go  to  the 
hotel  first,  anyway  ?  " 

There !  —  she  knew  it !  He  would  keep 
on  !  And  now  she  had  burst  into  tears. 

The  mare  was  still  walking  slowly;  the 
man  was  lazily  bending  forward  over  the 
shafts  as  if  nothing  had  occurred.  Then 
suddenly,  illogically,  and  without  a  mo- 
ment's warning,  the  pride  that  had  sustained 
her  crumbled  and  became  as  the  dust  of  the 
road. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    213 

She  burst  out  and  told  him  —  this  stran- 
ger !  —  this  man  she  had  disliked !  —  all  and 
everything.  How  she  had  felt,  how  she  had 
been  deceived,  and  what  she  had  overheard ! 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  her  companion, 
quietly,  "  and  that 's  why  I  sent  for  your 
father." 

"  You  sent  for  my  father  !  —  when  ?  — 
where  ?  "  echoed  Rose,  in  astonishment. 

"  Yesterday.  He  was  to  come  to-day,  and 
if  we  don't  find  him  at  the  hotel  it  will  be 
because  he  has  already  started  to  come  here 
by  the  upper  and  longer  road.  But  you 
leave  it  to  me,  and  don't  you  say  anything 
to  him  of  this  now.  If  he 's  at  the  hotel,  I  ?11 
say  I  drove  you  down  there  to  show  off  the 
mare.  Sabe  ?  If  he  is  n't,  I  '11  leave  you 
there  and  come  back  here  to  find  him.  I  've 
got  something  to  tell  him  that  will  set  you 
all  right."  He  smiled  grimly,  lifted  the 
reins,  the  mare  started  forward  again,  and 
the  vehicle  and  its  occupants  disappeared  in 
a  vanishing  dust  cloud. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IT  was  nearly  noon  when  Mr.  Dawson  fin- 
ished rubbing  down  his  sweating  mare  in 
the  little  stable  shed  among  the  wheat.  He 
had  left  Rose  at  the  hotel,  for  they  found 
Mr.  Mallory  had  previously  started  by  a  cir- 
cuitous route  for  the  wheat  ranch.  He  had 
resumed  not  only  his  working  clothes  but 
his  working  expression.  He  was  now  super- 
intending the  unloading  of  a  wain  of  stores 
and  implements  when  the  light  carryall  of 
the  Randolphs  rolled  into  the  field.  It  con- 
tained only  Mrs.  Randolph  and  the  driver. 
A  slight  look  of  intelligence  passed  between 
the  latter  and  the. nearest  one  of  Dawson's 
companions,  succeeded,  however,  by  a  dull 
look  of  stupid  vacancy  on  the  faces  of  all  the 
others,  including  Dawson.  Mrs.  Randolph 
noticed  it,  and  was  forewarned.  She  re- 
flected that  no  human  beings  ever  looked 
naturally  as  stupid  as  that  and  were  able  to 
work.  She  smiled  sarcastically,  and  then 
began  with  dry  distinctness  and  narrowing 
lips. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    215 

"  Miss  Mallory,  a  young  lady  visiting  us, 
went  out  for  an  early  walk  this  morning  and 
has  not  returned.  It  is  possible  she  may 
have  lost  her  way  among  your  wheat.  Have 
you  seen  anything  of  her?  " 

Dawson  raised  his  eyes  from  his  work  and 
glanced  slowly  around  at  his  companions,  as 
if  taking  the  heavy  sense  of  the  assembly. 
One  or  two  shook  their  heads  mechanically, 
and  returned  to  their  suspended  labor.  He 
said,  coolly :  — 

"  Nobody  here  seems  to." 

She  felt  that  they  were  lying.  She  was 
only  a  woman  against  five  men.  She  was 
only  a  petty  domestic  tyrant ;  she  might 
have  been  a  larger  one.  But  she  had  all  the 
courage  of  that  possibility. 

"  Major  Randolph  and  my  son  are  away," 
she  went  on,  drawing  herself  erect.  "  But 
I  know  that  the  major  will  pay  liberally  if 
these  men  will  search  the  field,  besides  mak- 
ing it  all  right  with  your  —  employers  —  for 
the  loss  of  time." 

Dawson  uttered  a  single  word  in  a  low 
voice  to  the  man  nearest  him,  who  appar- 
ently communicated  it  to  the  others,  for  the 
four  men  stopped  unloading,  and  moved 
away  one  after  the  other  —  even  the  driver 


216     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

joining  in  the  exodus.  Mrs.  Randolph 
smiled  sarcastically ;  it  was  plain  that  these 
people,  with  all  their  boasted  independence, 
were  quite  amenable  to  pecuniary  considera- 
tions. Nevertheless,  as  Dawson  remained 
looking  quietly  at  her,  she  said  :  — 

"  Then  I  suppose  they  've  concluded  to  go 
and  see  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  've  sent  them  away  so  that  they 
could  n't  hear." 

"Hear  what?" 

"  What  I  've  got  to  say  to  you." 

She  looked  at  him  suddenly.  Then  she 
said,  with  a  disdainful  glance  around  her: 
"  I  see  I  am  helpless  here,  and  —  thanks  to 
your  trickery  —  alone.  Have  a  care,  sir ;  I 
warn  you  that  you  will  have  to  answer  to 
Major  Randolph  for  any  insolence." 

"I  reckon  you  won't  tell  Major  Randolph 
what  I  have  to  say  to  you,"  he  returned 
coolly. 

Her  lips  were  nearly  a  grayish  hue,  but 
she  said  scornfully  :  "  And  why  not  ?  Do 
you  know  who  you  are  talking  to  ?  " 

The  man  came  lazily  forward  to  the  carry- 
all, carelessly  brushed  aside  the  slack  reins, 
and  resting  his  elbows  on  the  horse's  back, 
laid  his  chin  on  his  hands,  as  he  looked  up 
in  the  woman's  face. 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    217 

"Yes;  /know  who  I'm  talking  to,"  he 
said  coolly.  "  But  as  the  major  don't,  I 
reckon  you  won't  tell  him." 

"  Stand  away  from  that  horse  !  "  she  said, 
her  whole  face  taking  the  grayish  color  of 
her  lips,  but  her  black  eyes  growing  smaller 
and  brighter.  "  Hand  me  those  reins,  and 
let  me  pass !  What  canaille  are  you  to  stop 
me?" 

"  I  thought  so,"  returned  the  man,  with- 
out altering  his  position  ;  "  you  don't  know 
me.  You  never  saw  me  before.  Well,  I  'm 
Jim  Dawson,  the  nephew  of  L'Hommadieu, 
your  old  master  !  " 

She  gripped  the  irdn  rail  of  the  seat  as  if 
to  leap  from  it,  but  checked  herself  suddenly 
and  leaned  back,  with  a  set  smile  on  her 
rnouth  that  seemed  stamped  there.  It  was 
remarkable  that  with  that  smile  she  flung 
away  her  old  affectation  of  superciliousness 
for  an  older  and  ruder  audacity,  and  that 
not  only  the  expression,  but  the  type  of  her 
face  appeared  to  have  changed. 

"  I  don't  say,"  continued  the  man  quietly, 
"  that  he  did  n't  marry  you  before  he  died. 
But  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  the  laws 
of  his  State  did  n't  recognize  the  marriage 
of  a  master  with  his  octoroon  slave !  And 


218     THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  even  if  he  had 
freed  you,  he  could  n't  change  your  blood. 
Why,  if  I  'd  been  willing  to  stay  at  Avo- 
yelles  to  be  a  nigger-driver  like  him,  the 
plantation  of  '  de  Fontanges  '  —  whose  name 
you  have  taken  —  would  have  been  left  to 
me.  If  you  had  stayed  there,  you  might 
have  been  my  property  instead  of  your  own- 
ing a  square  man  like  Randolph.  You 
did  n't  think  of  that  when  you  came  here, 
did  you?"  he  said  composedly. 

"  OA,  mon  Dieu  ! "  she  said,  dropping 
rapidly  into  a  different  accent,  with  her 
white  teeth  and  fixed  mirthless  smile,  "  so  it 
is  a  claim  for  property,  eh  ?  You  're  want- 
ing money  —  you  ?  Tres  bien,  you  forget 
we  are  in  California,  where  one  does  not 
own  a  slave.  And  you  have  a  fine  story 
there,  my  poor  friend.  Very  pretty,  but 
very  hard  to  prove,  m  'sieu.  And  these 
peasants  are  in  it,  eh,  working  it  on  shares 
like  the  farm,  eh  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Dawson,  slightly  changing 
his  position,  and  passing  his  hand  over  the 
horse's  neck  with  a  half -wearied  contempt, 
"  one  of  these  men  is  from  Plaquemine,  and 
the  other  from  Coupee.  They  know  all  the 
1'Hommadieus'  history.  And  they  know  a 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.     219 

streak  of  the  tar  brush  when  they  see  it.* 
They  took  your  measure  when  they  came 
here  last  year,  and  sized  you  up  fairly.  So 
had  I,  for  the  matter  of  that,  when  I  first 
saw  you.  And  we  compared  notes.  But 
the  major  is  a  square  man,  for  all  he  is  your 
husband,  and  we  reckoned  he  had  a  big 
enough  contract  on  his  hands  to  take  caro 
of  you  and  l'Hommadieu's  half-breeds,  and 
so  "  —  he  tossed  the  reins  contemptuously 
aside  —  "  we  kept  this  to  ourselves." 
"  And  now  you  want  —  what  —  eh  ?  " 
"  We  want  an  end  to  this  foolery,"  he 
broke  out  roughly,  stepping  back  from  the 
vehicle,  and  facing  her  suddenly,  with  his 
first  angry  gesture.  "  We  want  an  end  to 
these  airs  and  grimaces,  and  all  this  dandy 
nigger  business;  we  want  an  end  to  this 
1  cake  -  walking  '  through  the  wheat,  and 
flouting  of  the  honest  labor  of  your  betters. 
We  want  you  and  your  '  de  Fontanges '  to 
climb  down.  And  we  want  an  end  to  this 
roping-in  of  white  folks  to  suit  your  little 
game ;  we  want  an  end  to  your  trying  to 
mix  your  nigger  blood  with  any  one  here, 
and  we  intend  to  stop  it.  We  draw  the  line 
at  the  major." 

Lashed  as  she  had  been  by  those  words 


220  THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT. 

apparently  out  of  all  semblance  of  her  for- 
mer social  arrogance,  a  lower  and  more  stub- 
born resistance  seemed  to  have  sprung  up  in 
her,  as  she  sat  sideways,  watching  him  with 
her  set  smile  arid  contracting  eyes. 

"  Ah,"  she  said  dryly,  "  so  she  is  here.  I 
thought  so.  Which  of  you  is  it,  eh  ?  It 's 
a  good  spec  —  Mallory  's  a  rich  man.  She  's 
not  particular." 

The  man  had  stopped  as  if  listening,  his 
head  turned  towards  the  road.  Then  he 
turned  carelessly,  and  facing  her  again, 
waved  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  tired  dis- 
missal, and  said,  "  Go !  You  '11  find  your 
driver  over  there  by  the  tool-shed.  He  has 
heard  nothing  yet  —  but  I  Ve  given  you  fair 
warning.  Go  ! " 

He  walked  slowly  back  towards  the  shed, 
as  the  woman,  snatching  up  the  reins,  drove 
violently  off  in  the  direction  where  the  men 
had  disappeared.  But  she  turned  aside, 
ignoring  her  waiting  driver  in  her  wild  and 
reckless  abandonment  of  all  her  old  conven- 
tional attitudes,  and  lashing  her  horse  for- 
ward with  the  same  set  smile  on  her  face,  the 
same  odd  relaxation  of  figure,  and  the  same 
squaring  of  her  elbows. 

Avoiding  the  main  road,  she  pushed  into 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT.    221 

a  narrow  track  that  intersected  another 
nearer  the  scene  of  the  accident  to  Rose's 
buggy  three  weeks  before.  She  had  nearly 
passed  it  when  she  was  hailed  by  a  strange 
voice,  and  looking  up,  perceived  a  horseman 
floundering  in  the  mazes  of  the  wheat  to  one 
side  of  the  track.  Whatever  mean  thought 
of  her  past  life  she  was  flying  from,  what- 
ever mean  purpose  she  was  flying  to,  she 
pulled  up  suddenly,  and  as  suddenly  re- 
sumed her  erect,  aggressive  stiffness.  The 
stranger  was  a  middle-aged  man ;  in  dress 
and  appearance  a  dweller  of  cities.  He 
lifted  his  hat  as  he  perceived  the  occupant 
of  the  wagon  to  be  a  lady. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  fear  I  've  lost 
my  way  in  trying  to  make  a  short  cut  to  the 
Excelsior  Company's  Ranch." 

"  You  are  in  it  now,"  said  Mrs.  Randolph, 
quickly. 

"  Thank  you,  but  where  can  I  find  the 
farmhouse  ?  " 

"  There  is  none,"  she  returned,  with  her 
old  superciliousness,  "  unless  you  choose  to 
give  that  name  to  the  shanties  and  sheds 
where  the  laborers  and  servants  live,  near 
the  road." 

The  stranger  looked  puzzled.     "  I  'm  look- 


222    THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA   WHEAT. 

ing  for  a  Mr.  Dawson,"  he  said  reflectively, 
"  but  I  may  have  made  some  mistake.  Do 
you  know  Major  Randolph's  house  here- 
abouts ?  " 

"  I  do.  I  am  Mrs.  Randolph/'  she  said 
stiffly. 

The  stranger's  brow  cleared,  and  he  smiled 
pleasantly.  "  Then  this  is  a  fortunate  meet- 
ing," he  said,  raising  his  hat  again  as  he 
reined  in  his  horse  beside  the  wagon,  "  for 
I  am  Mr.  Mallory,  and  I  was  looking  for- 
ward to  the  pleasure  of  presenting  myself  to 
you  an  hour  or  two  later.  The  fact  is,  an 
old  acquaintance,  Mr.  Dawson,  telegraphed 
me  yesterday  to  meet  him  here  on  urgent 
business,  and  I  felt  obliged  to  go  there 
first." 

Mrs.  Randolph's  eyes  sparkled  with  a 
sudden  gratified  intelligence,  but  her  manner 
seemed  rather  to  increase  than  abate  its 
grim  precision. 

"  Our  meeting  this  morning,  Mr.  Mallory, 
is  both  fortunate  and  unfortunate,  for  I  re- 
gret to  say  that  your  daughter,  who  has  not 
been  quite  herself  since  the  earthquake,  was 
missing  early  this  morning  and  has  not  yet 
been  found,  though  we  have  searched  every- 
where. Understand  me,"  she  said,  as  the 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA    WHEAT.     223 

stranger  started,  "  I  have  no  fear  for  her 
personal  safety,  I  am  only  concerned  for 
any  indiscretion  that  she  may  commit  in  the 
presence  of  these  strangers  whose  company 
she  would  seem  to  prefer  to  ours." 

"  But  I  don't  understand  you,  madam,'* 
said  Mallory,  sternly ;  "  you  are  speaking 
of  my  daughter,  and  "  — 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Mallory,"  said  Mrs. 
Randolph,  lifting  her  hand  with  her  driest 
deprecation  and  her  most  desiccating  smile, 
"  I  'm  not  passing  judgment  or  criticism. 
I  am  of  a  foreign  race,  and  consequently  do 
not  understand  the  freedom  of  American 
young  ladies,  and  their  familiarity  with  the 
opposite  sex.  I  make  no  charges,  I  only 
wish  to  assure  you  that  she  will  no  doubt  be 
found  in  the  company  and  under  the  protec- 
tion of  her  own  countrymen.  There  is,"  she 
added  with  ironical  distinctness,  "  a  young 
mechanic,  or  field  hand,  or  4  quack  well- 
doctor/  whom  she  seems  to  admire,  and  with 
whom  she  appears  to  be  on  equal  terms." 

Mallory  regarded  her  for  a  moment  fix- 
edly, arid  then  his  sternness  relaxed  to  a  mis- 
chievously complacent  smile.  "  That  must 
be  young  Bent,  of  whom  I  've  heard,"  he 
said  with  unabated  cheerfulness.  "  And  I 


224    THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT. 

don't  know  but  what  she  may  be  with  him, 
after  all.  For  now  I  think  of  it,  a  chuckle- 
headed  fellow,  of  whom  a  moment  ago  I  in- 
quired the  way  to  your  house,  told  me  I  'd 
better  ask  the  young  man  and  young  woman 
who  were  '  philandering  through  the  wheat ' 
yonder.  Suppose  we  look  for  them.  From 
what  I  've  heard  of  Bent  he 's  too  much 
wrapped  up  in  his  inventions  for  flirtation, 
but  it  would  be  a  good  joke  to  stumble  upon 
them." 

Mrs.  Randolph's  eyes  sparkled  with  a 
mingling  of  gratified  malice  and  undisguised 
contempt  for  the  fatuous  father  beside  her. 
But  before  she  could  accept  or  decline  the 
challenge,  it  had  become  useless.  A  mur- 
mur of  youthful  voices  struck  her  ear,  and 
she  suddenly  stood  upright  and  transfixed  in 
the  carriage.  For  lounging  down  slowly 
towards  them  out  of  the  dim  green  aisles  of 
the  arbored  wheat,  lost  in  themselves  and 
the  shimmering  veil  of  their  seclusion,  came 
the  engineer,  Thomas  Bent,  and  on  his  arm, 
gazing  ingenuously  into  his  face,  the  figure 
of  Adele,  —  her  own  perfect  daughter. 

"  I  don't  think,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Mai- 
lory,  as  the  anxious  Rose  flew  into  his  arms 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT.    225 

on  his  return  to  San  Jose,  a  few  hours  later, 
"  that  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  go  back 
again  to  Major  Randolph's  before  we  leave. 
I  have  said  '  Good-by '  for  you  and  thanked 
them,  and  your  trunks  are  packed  and  will 
be  sent  here.  The  fact  is,  my  dear,  you  see 
this  affair  of  the  earthquake  and  the  disaster 
to  the  artesian  well  have  upset  all  their  ar- 
rangements, and  I  am  afraid  that  my  little 
girl  would  be  only  in  their  way  just  now." 

"  And  you  have  seen  Mr.  Dawson  —  and 
you  know  why  he  sent  for  you  ?  "  asked  the 
young  girl,  with  nervous  eagerness. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Mallory  thoughtfully, 
"  that  was  really  important.  You  see,  my 
child,"  he  continued,  taking  her  hand  in  one 
of  his  own  and  patting  the  back  of  it  gently 
with  the  other,  "  we  think,  Dawson  and  I, 
of  taking  over  the  major's  ranch  and  incor- 
porating it  with  the  Excelsior  in  one,  to  be 
worked  011  shares  like  the  Excelsior ;  and  as 
Mrs.  Randolph  is  very  anxious  to  return  to 
the  Atlantic  States  with  her  children,  it  is 
quite  possible.  Mrs.  Randolph,  as  you  have 
possibly  noticed,"  Mr.  Mallory  went  on,  still 
patting  his  daughter's  hand,  "  does  not  feel 
entirely  at  home  here,  and  will  consequently 
leave  the  major  free  to  rearrange,  by  himself, 


226  THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT. 

the  ranch  on  the  new  basis.  In  fact,  as  the 
change  must  be  made  before  the  crops  come 
in,  she  talks  of  going  next  week.  But  if  you 
like  the  place,  Rose,  I  've  no  doubt  the  major 
and  Dawson  will  always  find  room  for  you 
and  me  when  we  run  down  there  for  a  little 
fresh  air." 

"  And  did  you  have  all  that  in  your  mind, 
papa,  when  you  came  down  here,  and  was 
that  what  you  and  Mr.  Dawson  wanted  to 
talk  about?  "  said  the  astonished  Rose. 

"  Mainly,  my  dear,  mainly.  You  see  I  'm 
a  capitalist  now,  and  the  real  value  of  capital 
is  to  know  how  and  when  to  apply  it  to  cer- 
tain conditions." 

"  And  this  Mr.  —  Mr.  Bent  —  do  you 
think  —  he  will  go  on  and  find  the  water, 
papa?"  said  Rose,  hesitatingly. 

"Ah!  Bent  — Tom  Bent  — oh,  yes,"  said 
Mallory,  with  great  heartiness.  "  Capital 
fellow,  Bent !  and  mighty  ingenious  !  Glad 
you  met  him !  Well,"  thoughtfully  but  still 
heartily,  "  he  may  not  find  it  exactly  where 
he  expected,  but  he  '11  find  it  or  something 
better.  We  can't  part  with  him,  and  he  has 
promised  Dawson  to  stay.  We  11  utilize 
Awn,  you  may  be  sure." 

It  would  seem  that  they  did,  and  from  cer- 


THROUGH  THE  SANTA  CLARA  WHEAT.    227 

tain  interviews  and  conversations  that  took 
place  between  Mr.  Bent  and  Miss  Mallory 
on  a  later  visit,  it  would  also  appear  that 
her  father  had  exercised  a  discreet  reticence 
in  regard  to  a  certain  experiment  of  the 
young  inventor,  of  which  he  had  been  an 
accidental  witness. 


A  MAECENAS   OF   THE    PACIFIC 
SLOPE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

As  Mr.  Robert  Rushbrook,  known  to  an 
imaginative  press  as  the  "  Mascenas  of  the 
Pacific  Slope,"  drove  up  to  his  country  seat, 
equally  referred  to  as  a  "  palatial  villa,"  he 
cast  a  quick  but  practical  look  at  the  pillared 
pretensions  of  that  enormous  shell  of  wood 
and  paint  and  plaster.  The  statement,  also 
a  reportorial  one,  that  its  site,  the  Canon  of 
Los  Osos,  "  some  three  years  ago  was  dis- 
turbed only  by  the  passing  tread  of  bear  and 
wild-cat,"  had  lost  some  of  its  freshness  as  a 
picturesque  apology,  and  already  successive 
improvements  on  the  original  building  seem- 
ingly cast  the  older  part  of  the  structure 
back  to  a  hoary  antiquity.  To  many  it 
stood  as  a  symbol  of  everything  Robert 
Rushbrook  did  or  had  done  —  an  improve- 
ment of  all  previous  performances ;  it  was 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    229 

like  his  own  life  —  an  exciting  though  irri- 
tating state  of  transition  to  something  better. 
Yet  the  visible  architectural  result,  as  here 
shown,  was  scarcely  harmonious;  indeed, 
some  of  his  friends  —  and  Maecenas  had 
many  —  professed  to  classify  the  various  im- 
provements by  the  successive  fortunate  ven- 
tures in  their  owner's  financial  career,  which 
had  led  to  new  additions,  under  the  names 
of  "The  Comstock  Lode  Period,"  "The 
Union  Pacific  Kenaissance,"  "The  Great 
Wheat  Corner,"  and  "  Water  Front  Gable 
Style,"  a  humorous  trifling  that  did  not, 
however,  prevent  a  few  who  were  artists 
from  accepting  MaBcenas's  liberal  compensa- 
tion for  their  services  in  giving  shape  to 
those  ideas. 

Kelinquishing  to  a  groom  his  fast-trotting 
team,  the  second  relay  in  his  two  hours' 
drive  from  San  Francisco,  he  leaped  to  the 
ground  to  meet  the  architect,  already  await- 
ing his  orders  in  the  courtyard.  With  his 
eyes  still  fixed  upon  the  irregular  building 
before  him,  he  mingled  his  greeting  and  his 
directions. 

"  Look  here,  Barker,  we  '11  have  a  wing 
thrown  out  here,  and  a  hundred-foot  ball- 
room. Something  to  hold  a  crowd ;  some- 


230    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

thing  that  can  be  used  for  music  —  sale  ?  — 
a  concert,  or  a  show." 

"Have  you  thought  of  any  style,  Mr. 
Rushbrook?"  suggested  the  architect. 

"  No,"  said  Kushbrook ;  "  I  've  been  think- 
ing of  the  time  —  thirty  days,  and  every- 
thing to  be  in.  You  '11  stop  to  dinner.  I  '11 
have  you  sit  near  Jack  Somers.  You  can 
talk  style  to  him.  Say  I  told  you." 

"  You  wish  it  completed  in  thirty  days  ?  " 
repeated  the  architect,  dubiously. 

"  Well,  I  should  n't  mind  if  it  were  less. 
You  can  begin  at  once.  There 's  a  telegraph 
in  the  house.  Patrick  will  take  any  message, 
and  you  can  send  up  to  San  Francisco  and 
fix  things  before  dinner." 

Before  the  man  could  reply,  Rushbrook 
was  already  giving  a  hurried  interview  to  the 
gardener  and  others  on  his  way  to  the  front 
porch.  In  another  moment  he  had  entered 
his  own  hall,  —  a  wonderful  temple  of  white 
and  silver  plaster,  formal,  yet  friable  like  the 
sugared  erection  of  a  wedding  cake, — where 
his  major-domo  awaited  him. 

"  Well,  who  's  here?  "  asked  Rushbrook, 
still  advancing  towards  his  apartments. 

"Dinner  is  set  for  thirty,  sir,"  said  the 
functionary,  keeping  step  demurely  with  his 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    231 

master,  "  but  Mr.  Appleby  takes  ten  over  to 
San  Mateo,  and  some  may  sleep  there.  The 
char-Orbanc  is  still  out  and  five  saddle-horses, 
to  a  picnic  in  Green  Canon,  and  I  can't  pos- 
itively say,  but  I  should  think  you  might 
count  on  seeing  about  forty-five  guests  before 
you  go  to  town  to-morrow.  The  opera  troupe 
seem  to  have  not  exactly  understood  the  in- 
vitation, sir." 

"  How  ?     I  gave  it  myself." 

"  The  chorus  and  supernumeraries  thought 
themselves  invited  too,  sir,  and  have  come,  I 
believe,  sir.  At  least  Signora  Pegrelli  and 
Madame  Denise  said  so,  and  that  they  would 
speak  to  you  about  it,  but  that  meantime  I 
could  put  them  up  anywhere." 

"  And  you  made  no  distinction,  of  course  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  put  them  in  the  corresponding 
rooms  opposite,  sir.  I  don't  think  the  prima 
donnas  like  it." 

"Ah!" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Whatever  was  in  their  minds,  the  two 
men  never  changed  their  steady,  practical 
gravity  of  manner.  The  major-domo's  ap- 
peared to  be  a  subdued  imitation  of  his  mas- 
ter's, worn,  as  he  might  have  worn  his 
master's  clothes,  had  he  accepted,  or  Mr. 


232    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

Rushbrook  permitted,  such  a  degradation. 
By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  door  of 
Mr.  Rushbrook's  room,  and  the  man  paused. 
"  I  did  n't  include  some  guests  of  Mr.  Ley- 
ton's,  sir,  that  he  brought  over  here  to  show 
around  the  place,  but  he  told  me  to  tell  you 
he  would  take  them  away  again,  or  leave 
them,  as  you  liked.  They  're  some  Eastern 
strangers  stopping  with  him." 

"All  right,"  said  Rushbrook,  quietly,  as 
he  entered  his  own  apartment.  It  was  dec- 
orated as  garishly  as  the  hall,  as  staring  and 
vivid  in  color,  but  wholesomely  new  and 
clean  for  all  its  paint,  veneering,  and  plas- 
ter. It  was  filled  with  heterogeneous  splen- 
dor —  all  new  and  well  kept,  yet  with  so 
much  of  the  attitude  of  the  show-room  still 
lingering  about  it  that  one  almost  expected 
to  see  the  various  articles  of  furniture  tick- 
eted with  their  prices.  A  luxurious  bed, 
with  satin  hangings  and  Indian  carved  posts, 
standing  ostentatiously  in  a  corner,  kept  up 
this  resemblance,  for  in  a  curtained  recess 
stood  a  worn  camp  bedstead,  Rushbrook's 
real  couch,  Spartan  in  its  simplicity. 

Mr.  Rushbrook  drew  his  watch  from  his 
pocket,  and  deliberately  divested  himself  of 
his  boots,  coat,  waistcoat,  and  cravat.  Then 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    233 

rolling  himself  in  a  fleecy,  blanket-like  rug 
with  something  of  the  habitual  dexterity  of 
a  frontiersman,  he  threw  himself  on  his 
couch,  closed  his  eyes,  and  went  instantly  to 
sleep.  Lying  there,  he  appeared  to  be  a 
man  comfortably  middle-aged,  with  thick 
iron-gray  hair  that  might  have  curled  had 
he  encouraged  such  inclination ;  a  skin 
roughened  and  darkened  by  external  hard- 
ships and  exposure,  but  free  from  taint  of 
inner  vice  or  excess,  and  indistinctive  fea- 
tures redeemed  by  a  singularly  handsome 
mouth.  As  the  lower  part  of  the  face  was 
partly  hidden  by  a  dense  but  closely-cropped 
beard,  it  is  probable  that  the  delicate  out- 
lines of  his  lips  had  gained  something  from 
their  framing. 

He  slept,  through  what  seemed  to  be  the 
unnatural  stillness  of  the  large  house,  —  a 
quiet  that  might  have  come  from  the  linger- 
ing influence  of  the  still  virgin  solitude 
around  it,  as  if  Nature  had  forgotten  the 
intrusion,  or  were  stealthily  retaking  her 
own;  and  later,  through  the  rattle  of  re- 
turning wheels  or  the  sound  of  voices,  which 
were,  however,  promptly  absorbed  in  that 
deep  and  masterful  silence  which  was  the 
unabdicating  genius  of  the  canon.  For  it 


234    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

was  remarkable  that  even  the  various  ar- 
tists, musicians,  orators,  and  poets  whom 
Maecenas  had  gathered  in  his  cool  business 
fashion  under  that  roof,  all  seemed  to  be- 
come, by  contrast  with  surrounding  Nature, 
as  new  and  artificial  as  the  house,  and  as 
powerless  to  assert  themselves  against  its 
influence. 

He  was  still  sleeping  when  James  re- 
entered  the  room,  but  awoke  promptly  at 
the  sound  of  his  voice.  In  a  few  moments 
he  had  rearranged  his  scarcely  disordered 
toilette,  and  stepped  out  refreshed  and  ob- 
servant into  the  hall.  The  guests  were  still 
absent  from  that  part  of  the  building,  and 
he  walked  leisurely  past  the  carelessly  opened 
doors  of  the  rooms  they  had  left.  Every- 
where he  met  the  same  glaring  ornamenta- 
tion and  color,  the  same  garishness  of  treat- 
ment, the  same  inharmonious  extravagance 
of  furniture,  and  everywhere  the  same  trou- 
bled acceptance  of  it  by  the  inmates,  or 
the  same  sense  of  temporary  and  restricted 
tenancy.  Dresses  were  hung  over  eheval 
glasses ;  clothes  piled  up  on  chairs  to  avoid 
the  use  of  doubtful  and  over  ornamented 
wardrobes,  and  in  some  cases  more  practical 
guests  had  apparently  encamped  in  a  corner 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    235 

of  their  apartment.  A  gentleman  from  Sis- 
kyou  —  sole  proprietor  of  a  mill  patent  now 
being  considered  by  Maecenas  —  had  con- 
fined himself  to  a  rocking-chair  and  clothes- 
horse  as  being  trustworthy  and  familiar ;  a 
bolder  spirit  from  Yreka  —  in  treaty  for  cap- 
ital to  start  an  independent  journal  devoted 
to  Mascenas's  interests  —  had  got  a  good  deal 
out  of,  and  indeed  all  he  had  into,  a  Louis 
XVI.  armoire  ;  while  a  young  painter  from 
Sacramento  had  simply  retired  into  his  ad- 
joining bath-room,  leaving  the  glories  of  his 
bedroom  untarnished.  Suddenly  he  paused. 
He  had  turned  into  a  smaller  passage  in 
order  to  make  a  shorter  cut  through  one  of 
the  deserted  suites  of  apartments  that  should 
bring  him  to  that  part  of  the  building  where 
he  designed  to  make  his  projected  improve- 
ment, when  his  feet  were  arrested  on  the 
threshold  of  a  sitting-room.  Although  it 
contained  the  same  decoration  and  furniture 
as  the  other  rooms,  it  looked  totally  differ- 
ent! It  was  tasteful,  luxurious,  comfort- 
able, and  habitable.  The  furniture  seemed 
to  have  fallen  into  harmonious  position ; 
even  the  staring  decorations  of  the  walls  and  ' 
ceiling  were  toned  down  by  sprays  of  laurel 
and  red-stained  manzanito  boughs  with  their 


236    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

berries,  apparently  fresh  plucked  from  the 
near  canon.  But  he  was  more  unexpectedly 
impressed  to  see  that  the  room  was  at  that 
moment  occupied  by  a  tall,  handsome  girl, 
who  had  paused  to  take  breath,  with  her 
hand  still  on  the  heavy  centre-table  she  was 
moving.  Standing  there,  graceful,  glowing, 
and  animated,  she  looked  the  living  genius 
of  the  recreated  apartment. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MR.  KUSHBROOK  glanced  rapidly  at  his 
unknown  guest.  "  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  with 
respectful  business  brevity,  *'  but  I  thought 
every  one  was  out,"  and  he  stepped  back- 
ward quickly. 

"  I  've  only  just  come,"  she  said  without 
embarrassment,  "and  would  you  mind,  as  you 
are  here,  giving  me  a  lift  with  this  table  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Rushbrook,  and  un- 
der the  young  girl's  direction  the  millionaire 
moved  the  table  to  one  side. 

During  the  operation  he  was  trying  to 
determine  which  of  his  unrecognized  guests 
the  fair  occupant  was.  Possibly  one  of  the 
Leyton  party,  that  James  had  spoken  of  as 
impending. 

"  Then  you  have  changed  all  the  furniture, 
and  put  up  these  things  ?  "  he  asked,  point- 
ing to  the  laurel. 

"  Yes,  the  room  was  really  something 
too  awful.  It  looks  better  now,  don't  you 
think?" 


238    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

"  A  hundred  per  cent.,"  said  Rushbrook, 
promptly.  "  Look  here,  I  '11  tell  you  what 
you  've  done.  You  've  set  the  furniture  to 
work  I  It  was  simply  lying  still  —  with  no 
return  to  anybody  on  the  investment." 

The  young  girl  opened  her  gray  eyes  at 
this,  and  then  smiled.  The  intruder  seemed 
to  be  characteristic  of  California.  As  for 
Rushbrook,  he  regretted  that  he  did  not 
know  her  better ;  he  would  at  once  have 
asked  her  to  rearrange  all  the  rooms,  and 
have  managed  in  some  way  liberally  to  re- 
ward her  for  it.  A  girl  like  that  had  no 
nonsense  about  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "I  wonder  Mr.  Rushbrook 
don't  look  at  it  in  that  way.  It  is  a  shame 
that  all  these  pretty  things  —  and  you  know 
they  are  really  good  and  valuable  —  should 
n't  show  what  they  are.  But  I  suppose 
everybody  here  accepts  the  fact  that  this 
man  simply  buys  them  because  they  are  val- 
uable, and  nobody  interferes,  and  is  content 
to  humor  him,  laugh  at  him,  and  feel  supe- 
rior. It  don't  strike  me  as  quite  fair,  does 
it  you?" 

Rushbi*ook  was  pleased.  Without  the 
vanity  that  would  be  either  annoyed  at  this 
revelation  of  his  reputation,  or  gratified  at 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    239 

her  defense  of  it,  he  was  simply  glad  to  dis- 
cover that  she  had  not  recognized  him  as  her 
host,  and  could  continue  the  conversation 
unreservedly.  "  Have  you  seen  the  ladies' 
boudoir  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  know,  the  room 
fitted  with  knick-knacks  and  pretty  things 
—  some  of  'em  bought  from  old  collections 
in  Europe,  by  fellows  who  knew  what  they 
were  ;  but  perhaps,"  he  added,  looking  into 
her  eyes  for  the  first  time,  "  did  n't  know 
exactly  what  ladies  cared  for." 

"I  merely  glanced  in  there  when  I  first 
came,  for  there  was  such  a  queer  lot  of 
women  —  I  'm  told  he  is  n't  very  particular 
in  that  way  —  that  I  did  n't  stay." 

"  And  you  did  n't  think  they  might  be  just 
as  valuable  and  good  as  some  of  the  furni- 
ture, if  they  could  have  been  pulled  around 
and  put  into  shape,  or  set  in  a  corner,  eh?  " 

The  young  girl  smiled ;  she  thought  her 
fellow-guest  rather  amusing,  none  the  less 
so,  perhaps,  for  catching  up  her  own  ideas, 
but  nevertheless  she  slightly  shrugged  her 
shoulders  with  that  hopeless  skepticism  which 
women  reserve  for  their  own  sex.  "  Some 
of  them  looked  as  if  they  had  been  pulled 
around,  as  you  say,  and  had  n't  been  im- 
proved by  it." 


240    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

"  There  's  no  one  there  now,"  said  Rush- 
brook,  with  practical  directness  ;  "  come  and 
take  a  look  at  it."  She  complied  without 
hesitation,  walking  by  his  side,  tall,  easy, 
and  self-possessed,  apparently  accepting 
without  self-consciousness  his  half  paternal, 
half  comrade -like  informality.  The  bou- 
doir was  a  large  room,  repeating  on  a  bigger 
scale  the  incongruousness  and  ill-fitting 
splendor  of  the  others.  When  she  had  of 
her  own  accord  recognized  and  pointed  out 
the  more  admirable  articles,  he  said,  gravely 
looking  at  his  watch,  "We  Ve  just  about 
seven  minutes  yet ;  if  you  'd  like  to  pull 
and  haul  these  things  around,  I  '11  help 
you." 

The  young  girl  smiled.  "  I  'm  quite  con- 
tent with  what  I  Ve  done  in  my  own  room, 
where  I  have  no  one's  taste  to  consult  but 
my  own.  I  hardly  know  how  Mr.  Rush- 
brook,  or  his  lady  friends,  might  like  my 
operating  here."  Then  recognizing  with 
feminine  tact  the  snub  that  might  seem 
implied  in  her  refusal,  she  said  quickly, 
"Tell  me  something  about  our  host  —  but 
first  look  !  is  n't  that  pretty  ?  " 

She  had  stopped  before  the  window  that 
looked  upon  the  dim  blue  abyss  of  the  canon, 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    241 

and  was  leaning  out  to  gaze  upon  it.  Rush- 
brook  joined  her. 

"  There  is  n't  much  to  be  changed  down 
there,  is  there?"  he  said,  half  interroga- 
tively. 

"  No,  not  unless  Mr.  Rushbrook  took  it 
into  his  head  to  roof  it  in,  and  somebody 
was  ready  with  a  contract  to  do  it.  But 
what  do  you  know  of  him?  Remember, 
I  'm  quite  a  stranger  here." 

"  You  came  with  Charley  Leyton?" 

"With  Mrs.  Ley  ton's  party,"  said  the 
young  girl,  with  a  half -smiling  emphasis. 
"  But  it  seems  that  we  don't  know  whether 
Mr.  Rushbrook  wants  us  here  or  not,  till  he 
comes.  And  the  drollest  thing  about  it  is 
that  they  're  all  so  perfectly  frank  in  saying 
so." 

"Charley  and  he  are  old  friends,  and 
you  '11  do  well  to  trust  to  their  judgment." 

This  was  hardly  the  kind  of  response  that 
the  handsome  and  clever  society  girl  before 
him  had  been  in  the  habit  of  receiving,  but 
it  amused  her.  Her  fellow-guest  was  de- 
cidedly original.  But  he  hadn't  told  her 
about  Rushbrook,  and  it  struck  her  that  his 
opinion  would  be  independent,  at  least.  She 
reminded  him  of  it. 


242    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Rushbrook,  "  you  '11 
meet  a  man  here  to-night  —  or  he  '11  be  sure 
to  meet  you  —  who  '11  tell  you  all  about 
Rushbrook.  He  's  a  smart  chap,  knows 
everybody  and  talks  well.  His  name  is 
Jack  Somers  ;  he  is  a  great  ladies'  man. 
He  can  talk  to  you  about  these  sort  of  things, 
too,"  — indicating  the  furniture  with  a  half 
tolerant,  half  contemptuous  gesture,  that 
struck  her  as  inconsistent  with  what  seemed 
to  be  his  previous  interest,  —  "just  as  well  as 
he  can  talk  of  people.  Been  in  Europe,  too." 

The  young  girl's  eye  brightened  with  a 
quick  vivacity  at  the  name,  but  a  moment 
after  became  reflective  and  slightly  embar- 
rassed. "  I  know  him  —  I  met  him  at  Mr. 
Leyton's.  He  has  already  talked  of  Mr. 
Rushbrook,  but,"  she  added,  avoiding  any 
conclusion,  with  a  pretty  pout,  "  I  'd  like 
to  have  the  opinion  of  others.  Yours,  now, 
I  fancy  would  be  quite  independent." 

"  You  stick  to  what  Jack  Somers  has  said, 
good  or  bad,  and  you  won't  be  far  wrong," 
he  said  assuringly.  He  stopped;  his  quick 
ear  had  heard  approaching  voices;  he  re- 
turned to  her  and  held  out  his  hand.  As  it 
seemed  to  her  that  in  California  everybody 
shook  hands  with  everybody  else  on  the 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    243 

slightest  occasions,  sometimes  to  save  fur- 
ther conversation,  she  gave  him  her  own. 
He  shook  it,  less  forcibly  than  she  had  feared, 
and  abruptly  left  her.  For  a  moment  she 
was  piqued  at  this  superior  and  somewhat 
brusque  way  of  ignoring  her  request,  but 
reflecting  that  it  might  be  the  awkwardness 
of  an  untrained  man,  she  dismissed  it  from 
her  mind.  The  voices  of  her  friends  in  the 
already  resounding  passages  also  recalled 
her  to  the  fact  that  she  had  been  wandering 
about  the  house  with  a  stranger,  and  she  re- 
joined them  a  little  self-consciously. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Leyton, 
gayly,  "  it  seems  we  are  to  stay.  Leyton 
says  Rushbrook  won't  hear  of  our  going." 

"  Does  that  mean  that  your  husband  takes 
the  whole  opera  troupe  over  to  your  house 
in  exchange  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  satirical,  but  congratulate 
yourself  on  your  opportunity  of  seeing  an 
awfully  funny  gathering.  I  would  n't  have 
you  miss  it  for  the  world.  It 's  the  most 
characteristic  thing  out." 

"  Characteristic  of  what?" 

"  Of  Rushbrook,  of  course.  Nobody  else 
would  conceive  of  getting  together  such  a  lot 
of  queer  people," 


244    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

"  But  don't  it  strike  you  that  we  're  a  part 
of  the  lot?" 

"  Perhaps,"  returned  the  lively  Mrs.  Ley- 
ton.  "  No  doubt  that 's  the  reason  why  Jack 
Somers  is  coming  over,  and  is  so  anxious 
that  you  should  stay.  I  can't  imagine  why 
else  he  should  rave  about  Miss  Grace  Nevil 
as  he  does.  Come,  Grace,  no  New  York  or 
Philadelphia  airs,  here !  Consider  your  un- 
cle's interests  with  this  capitalist,  to  say 
nothing  of  ours.  Because  you  're  a  million- 
aire and  have  been  accustomed  to  riches 
from  your  birth,  don't  turn  up  your  nose  at 
our  unpampered  appetites.  Besides,  Jack 
Somers  is  Rushbrook's  particular  friend,  and 
he  may  think  your  criticisms  unkind." 

"  But  is  Mr.  Somers  such  a  great  friend 
of  Mr.  Rushbrook's  ?  "  asked  Grace  Nevil. 

"  Why,  of  course.  Rushbrook  consults 
him  about  all  these  things ;  gives  him  carte 
blanche  to  invite  whom  he  likes  and  order 
what  he  likes,  and  trusts  his  taste  and  judg- 
ment implicitly." 

"  Then  this  gathering  is  Mr.  Somers's 
selection?" 

"  How  preposterous  you  are,  Grace.  Of 
course  not.  Only  Somers's  idea  of  what  is 
pleasing  to  Rushbrook,  gotten  up  with  a 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    245 

taste  and  discretion  all  his  own.  You  know 
Somers  is  a  gentleman,  educated  at  West 
Point  —  traveled  all  over  Europe  —  you 
might  have  met  him  there  ;  and  Rushbrook 
—  well,  you  have  only  to  see  him  to  know 
what  he  is.  Don't  you  understand  ?  " 

A  slight  seriousness ;  the  same  shadow 
that  once  before  darkened  the  girl's  charm- 
ing face  gave  way  to  a  mischievous  knitting 
of  her  brows  as  she  said  naively,  "  No." 


CHAPTER  III. 

GRACE  NEVIL  had  quite  recovered  her 
equanimity  when  the  indispensable  Mr. 
Somers,  handsome,  well-bred,  and  self -re- 
strained, approached  her  later  in  the  crowded 
drawing-room.  Blended  with  his  subdued 
personal  admiration  was  a  certain  ostenta- 
tion of  respect  —  as  of  a  tribute  to  a  distin- 
guished guest  —  that  struck  her.  "  I  am  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  taking  you  in,  Miss 
Nevil,"  he  said.  "  It 's  my  one  compensation 
for  the  dreadful  responsibility  just  thrust 
upon  me.  Our  host  has  been  suddenly  called 
away,  and  I  am  left  to  take  his  place." 

Miss  Nevil  was  slightly  startled.  Never- 
theless, she  smiled  graciously.  "  From  what 
I  hear  this  is  no  new  function  of  yours  ;  that 
is,  if  there  really  is  a  Mr.  Rushbrook.  I 
am  inclined  to  think  him  a  myth." 

"You  make  me  wish  he  were,"  retorted 
Somers,  gallantly ;  "  but  as  I  could  n't  reign 
at  all,  except  in  his  stead,  I  shall  look  to  you 
to  lend  your  rightful  grace  to  my  borrowed 
dignity." 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    247 

The  more  general  announcement  to  the 
company  was  received  with  a  few  perfidious 
regrets  from  the  more  polite,  but  with  only 
amused  surprise  by  the  majority.  Indeed, 
many  considered  it  "  characteristic  "  —  "  so 
like  Bob  Rushbrook,"  and  a  few  enthusiastic 
friends  looked  upon  it  as  a  crowning  and 
intentional  stroke  of  humor.  It  remained, 
however,  for  the  gentleman  from  Siskyou  to 
give  the  incident  a  subtlety  that  struck  Miss 
Nevil's  fancy.  "  It  reminds  me,"  he  said  in 
her  hearing,  k'of  ole  Kernel  Frisbee,  of 
Robertson  County,  one  of  the  purlitest  men 
I  ever  struck.  When  he  knew  a  feller  was 
very  dry,  he  'd  jest  set  the  decanter  afore 
him,  and  managed  to  be  called  outer  the 
room  on  bus' ness.  Now,  Bob  Rushbrook  's 
about  as  white  a  man  as  that.  He  's  jest  the 
feller,  who,  knowing  you  and  me  might  feel 
kinder  restrained  about  indulging  our  appe- 
tites afore  him,  kinder  drops  out  easy,  and 
leaves  us  alone."  And  she  was  impressed 
by  an  instinct  that  the  speaker  really  felt 
the  delicacy  he  spoke  of,  and  that  it  left  no 
sense  of  inferiority  behind. 

The  dinner,  served  in  a  large,  brilliantly- 
lit  saloon,  that  in  floral  decoration  and 
gilded  columns  suggested  an  ingenious 


248    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

blending  of  a  steamboat  table  d'hote  and 
"  harvest  home,"  was  perfect  in  its  cuisine, 
even  if  somewhat  extravagant  in  its  propor- 
tions. 

"I  should  be  glad  to  receive  the  salary 
that  Kushbrook  pays  his  chef,  and  still  hap- 
pier to  know  how  to  earn  it  as  fairly,"  said 
Soniers  to  his  fair  companion. 

"  But  is  his  skill  entirely  appreciated 
here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Perfectly,"  responded  Somers.  "  Our 
friend  from  Siskyou  over  there  appreciates 
that  pate  which  he  cannot  name  as  well  as  I 
do.  Kushbrook  himself  is  the  only  excep- 
tion, yet  I  fancy  that  even  his  simplicity  and 
regularity  in  feeding  is  as  much  a  matter  of 
business  with  him  as  any  defect  in  his  earlier 
education.  In  his  eyes,  his  chef's  greatest 
qualification  is  his  promptness  and  fertility. 
Have  you  noticed  that  ornament  before 
you  ? "  pointing  to  an  elaborate  confection. 
"  It  bears  your  initials,  you  see.  It  was  con- 
ceived and  executed  since  you  arrived  — 
rather,  I  should  say,  since  it  was  known  that 
you  would  honor  us  with  your  company. 
The  greatest  difficulty  encountered  was  to 
find  out  what  your  initials  were." 

"  And   I  suppose,"    mischievously  added 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.     249 

the  young  girl  to  her  acknowledgments, 
"that  the  same  fertile  mind  which  con- 
ceived the  design  eventually  provided  the 
initials?" 

"  That  is  our  secret,"  responded  Somers, 
with  affected  gravity. 

The  wines  were  of  characteristic  expen- 
siveness,  and  provoked  the  same  general 
comment.  Rushbrook  seldom  drank  wine ; 
Somers  had  selected  it.  But  the  barbaric 
opulence  of  the  entertainment  culminated  in 
the  Californian  fruits,  piled  in  pyramids  on 
silver  dishes,  gorgeous  and  unreal  in  their 
size  and  painted  beauty,  and  the  two  Divas 
smiled  over  a  basket  of  grapes  and  peaches 
as  outrageous  in  dimensions  and  glaring 
color  as  any  pasteboard  banquet  at  which 
they  had  professionally  assisted.  As  the 
courses  succeeded  each  other,  under  the  ex- 
altation of  wine,  conversation  became  more 
general  as  regarded  participation,  but  more 
local  and  private  as  regarded  the  subject, 
until  Miss  Nevil  could  no  longer  follow  it. 
The  interests  of  that  one,  the  hopes  of  an- 
other, the  claims  of  a  third,  in  affairs  that 
were  otherwise  uninteresting,  were  all  dis- 
cussed with  singular  youthfulness  of  trust 
that  to  her  alone  seemed  remarkable.  Not 


250    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

that  she  lacked  entertainment  from  the  con- 
versation of  her  clever  companion,  whose 
confidences  and  criticisms  were  very  pleas- 
ant to  her ;  but  she  had  a  gentlewoman's  in- 
stinct that  he  talked  to  her  too  much,  and 
more  than  was  consistent  with  his  duties  as 
the  general  host.  She  looked  around  the  table 
for  her  singular  acquaintance  of  an  hour  be- 
fore, but  she  had  not  seen  him  since.  She 
would  have  spoken  about  him  to  Somers,  but 
she  had  an  instinctive  idea  that  the  latter 
would  be  antipathetic,  in  spite  of  the  stran- 
ger's flattering  commendation.  So  she  found 
herself  again  following  Somers's  cynical  but 
good-humored  description  of  the  various 
guests,  and,  I  fear,  seeing  with  his  eyes, 
listening  with  his  ears,  and  occasionally 
participating  in  his  superior  attitude.  The 
"  fearful  joy  "  she  had  found  in  the  novelty 
of  the  situation  and  the  originality  of  the 
actors  seemed  now  quite  right  from  this  crit- 
ical point  of  view.  So  she  learned  how  the 
guest  with  the  long  hair  was  an  unknown 
painter,  to  whom  Rushbrook  had  given  a 
commission  for  three  hundred  yards  of 
painted  canvas,  to  be  cut  up  and  framed  as 
occasion  and  space  required,  in  Rushbrook's 
new  hotel  in  San  Francisco ;  how  the  gray- 


A  M^CENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    251 

bearded  foreigner  near  him  was  an  accom- 
plished bibliophile  who  was  furnishing  Mr. 
Rushbrook's  library  from  spoils  of  foreign 
collections,  and  had  suffered  unheard  -  of 
agonies  from  the  millionaire's  insisting  upon 
a  handsome  uniform  binding  that  should  de- 
prive certain  precious  but  musty  tomes  of 
their  crumbling,  worm-eaten  coverings ;  how 
the  very  gentle,  clerical-looking  stranger, 
mildest  of  a  noisy,  disputing  crowd  at  the 
other  table,  was  a  notorious  duelist  and  dead 
shot ;  how  the  only  gentleman  at  the  table 
who  retained  a  flannel  shirt  and  high  boots 
was  not  a  late-coming  mountaineer,  but  a 
well-known  English  baronet  on  his  travels ; 
how  the  man  who  told  a  somewhat  florid 
and  emphatic  anecdote  was  a  popular  East- 
ern clergyman  ;  how  the  one  querulous,  dis- 
contented face  in  a  laughing  group  was  the 
famous  humorist  who  had  just  convulsed  it ; 
and  how  a  pale,  handsome  young  fellow,  who 
ate  and  drank  sparingly  and  disregarded  the 
coquettish  advances  of  the  prettiest  Diva 
with  the  cold  abstraction  of  a  student,  was  a 
notorious  roue  and  gambler.  But  there  was 
a  sudden  and  unlooked-for  change  of  criti- 
cism and  critic. 

The  festivity  had  reached  that  stage  when 


252    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

the  guests  were  more  or  less  accessible  to 
emotion,  and  more  or  less  touched  by  the 
astounding  fact  that  every  one  was  enjoying 
himself.  This  phenomenon,  which  is  apt  to 
burst  into  song  or  dance  among  other  races, 
is  constrained  to  voice  itself  in  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  gathering  by  some  explanation, 
apology,  or  moral  —  known  as  an  after-din- 
ner speech.  Thus  it  was  that  the  gentle- 
man from  Siskyou,  who  had  been  from  time 
to  time  casting  glances  at  Somers  and  his 
fair  companion  at  the  head  of  the  table,  now 
rose  to  his  feet,  albeit  unsteadily,  pushed 
back  his  chair,  and  began  :  — 

"  Tears  to  me,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and 
feller  pardners,  that  on  an  occasion  like  this, 
suthin'  oughter  be  said  of  the  man  who  got 
it  up  —  whose  money  paid  for  it,  and  who 
ain't  here  to  speak  for  himself,  except  by 
deputy.  Yet  you  all  know  that 's  Bob  Rush- 
brook's  style  —  he  ain't  here,  because  he  's 
full  of  some  other  plan  or  improvements  — 
and  it 's  like  him  to  start  suthin'  of  this  kind, 
give  it  its  aim  and  purpose,  and  then  stand 
aside  to  let  somebody  else  run  it  for  him. 
There  ain't  no  man  livin'  ez  hez,  so  to  speak, 
more  fast  horses  ready  saddled  for  riding, 
and  more  fast  men  ready  spurred  to  ride 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    253 

'em,  —  whether  to  win  his  races  or  run  his 
errands.  There  ain't  no  man  livin'  ez  knows 
better  how  to  make  other  men's  games  his, 
or  his  game  seem  to  be  other  men's.  And 
from  Jack  Somers  smilin'  over  there,  ez 
knows  where  to  get  the  best  wine  that  Bob 
pays  for,  and  knows  how  to  run  this  yer 
show  for  Bob,  at  Bob's  expense  —  we  're  all 
contented.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  're 
all  contented.  We  stand,  so  to  speak,  on 
the  cards  he 's  dealt  us.  What  may  be  his 
little  game,  it  ain't  for  us  to  say ;  but  what- 
ever it  is,  we  're  in  it.  Gentlemen  and  la- 
dies, we  '11  drink  Bob's  health  !  " 

There  was  a  somewhat  sensational  pause, 
followed  by  good-natured  laughter  and  ap- 
plause, in  which  Somers  joined ;  yet  not 
without  a  certain  constraint  that  did  not 
escape  the  quick  sympathy  of  the  shocked 
and  unsmiling  Miss  Nevil.  It  was  with  a 
feeling  of  relief  that  she  caught  the  chaper- 
oning eye  of  Mrs.  Leyton,  who  was  entreat- 
ing her  in  the  usual  mysterious  signal  to  the 
other  ladies  to  rise  and  follow  her.  When 
she  reached  the  drawing-room,  a  little  behind 
the  others,  she  was  somewhat  surprised  to 
observe  that  the  stranger  whom  she  had 
missed  during  the  evening  was  approaching 
her  with  Mrs.  Leyton. 


254    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

"  Mr.  Rushbrook  returned  sooner  than  he 
expected,  but  unfortunately,  as  he  always 
retires  early,  he  has  only  time  to  say  '  good- 
night '  to  you  before  he  goes." 

For  an  instant  Grace  Nevil  was  more  an- 
gry than  disconcerted.  Then  came  the  con- 
viction that  she  was  stupid  not  to  have  sus- 
pected the  truth  before.  Who  else  would 
that  brusque  stranger  develop  into  but  this 
rude  host  ?  She  bowed  formally. 

Mr.  Rushbrook  looked  at  her  with  the 
faintest  smile  on  his  handsome  mouth. 
"  Well,  Miss  Nevil,  I  hope  Jack  Somers 
satisfied  your  curiosity  ?  " 

With  a  sudden  recollection  of  the  Siskyou 
gentleman's  speech,  and  a  swift  suspicion 
that  in  some  way  she  had  been  made  use  of 
with  the  others  by  this  forceful-looking  man 
before  her,  she  answered  pertly  :  — 

"  Yes ;  but  there  was  a  speech  by  a  gen- 
tleman from  Siskyou  that  struck  me  as  being 
nearer  to  the  purpose." 

"  That 's  so,  —  I  heard  it  as  I  came  in," 
said  Mr.  Rushbrook,  calmly.  "  I  don't  know 
but  you  're  right." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Six  months  had  passed.  The  Villa  of 
Maecenas  was  closed  at  Los  Osos  Canon, 
and  the  southwest  trade-winds  were  slanting 
the  rains  of  the  wet  season  against  its  shut 
windows  and  barred  doors.  Within  that 
hollow,  deserted  shell,  its  aspect  —  save  for 
a  single  exception  —  was  unchanged  ;  the 
furniture  and  decorations  preserved  their 
eternal  youth  undimmed  by  time ;  the  rig- 
idly-arranged rooms,  now  closed  to  life  and 
light,  developed  more  than  ever  their  resem- 
blance to  a  furniture  warehouse.  The  single 
exception  was  the  room  which  Grace  Nevil 
had  rearranged  for  herself ;  and  that,  oddly 
enough,  was  stripped  and  bare  —  even  to  its 
paper  and  mouldings. 

In  other  respects,  the  sealed  treasures  of 
Rushbrook's  villa,  far  from  provoking  any 
sentimentality,  seemed  only  to  give  truth  to 
the  current  rumor  that  it  was  merely  waiting 
to  be  transformed  into  a  gorgeous  watering- 
place  hotel  under  Rushbrook's  direction  ; 


256    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

that,  with  its  new  ball-room  changed  into  an 
elaborate  dining-hall,  it  would  undergo  still 
further  improvement,  the  inevitable  end  and 
object  of  all  Kushbrook's  enterprise ;  and 
that  its  former  proprietor  had  already  be- 
gun another  villa  whose  magnificence  should 
eclipse  the  last.  There  certainly  appeared 
to  be  no  limit  to  the  millionaire's  success  in 
all  that  he  personally  undertook,  or  in  his 
fortunate  complicity  with  the  enterprise  and 
invention  of  others.  His  name  was  asso- 
ciated with  the  oldest  and  safest  schemes,  as 
well  as  the  newest  and  boldest  —  with  an 
equal  guarantee  of  security.  A  few,  it  was 
true,  looked  doubtingly  upon  this  "  one  man 
power,"  but  could  not  refute  the  fact  that 
others  had  largely  benefited  by  association 
with  him,  and  that  he  shared  his  pro'fits 
with  a  royal  hand.  Some  objected  on  higher 
grounds  to  his  brutalizing  the  influence  of 
wealth  by  his  material  and  extravagantly 
practical  processes,  instead  of  the  gentler 
suggestions  of  education  and  personal  exam- 
ple, and  were  impelled  to  point  out  the  fact 
that  he  and  his  patronage  were  vulgar.  It 
was  felt,  however,  by  those  who  received  his 
benefits,  that  a  proper  sense  of  this  inferior- 
ity was  all  that  ethics  demanded  of  them. 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    257 

One  could  still  accept  Rushbrook's  barbaric 
gifts  by  humorously  recognizing  the  fact 
that  he  did  n't  know  any  better,  and  that  it 
pleased  him,  as  long  as  they  resented  any 
higher  pretensions. 

The  rain-beaten  windows  of  Rushbrook's 
town  house,  however,  were  cheerfully  lit  that 
December  evening.  Mr.  Rushbrook  seldom 
dined  alone  ;  in  fact,  it  was  popularly  alleged 
that  very  often  the  unfinished  business  of  the 
day  was  concluded  over  his  bountiful  and 
perfect  board.  He  was  dressing  as  James 
entered  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Leyton  is  in  your  study,  sir ;  he  will 
stay  to  dinner." 

"All  right." 

"  I  think,  sir,"  added  James,  with  respect- 
ful suggestiveness,  "  he  wants  to  talk.  At 
least,  sir,  he  asked  me  if  you  would  likely 
come  downstairs  before  your  company  ar- 
rived." 

"  Ah !  Well,  tell  the  others  I  'm  dining 
on  business,  and  set  dinner  for  two  in  the 
blue  room." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Leyton  —  a  man  of  Rush- 
brook's  age,  but  not  so  fresh  and  vigorous- 
looking —  had  thrown  himself  in  a  chair 


258    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

beside  the  study  fire,  after  a  glance  around 
the  handsome  and  familiar  room.  For  the 
house  had  belonged  to  a  brother  millionaire  ; 
it  had  changed  hands  with  certain  shares  of 
"  Water  Front,"  —  as  some  of  Rushbrook's 
dealings  had  the  true  barbaric  absence  of 
money  detail,  —  and  was  elegantly  and  taste- 
fully furnished.  The  cuckoo  had,  however, 
already  laid  a  few  characteristic  eggs  in  this 
adopted  nest,  and  a  white  marble  statue  of 
a  nude  and  ill-fed  Virtue,  sent  over  by  Rush- 
brook's  Paris  agent,  and  unpacked  that  morn- 
ing, stood  in  one  corner,  and  materially 
brought  down  the  temperature.  A  Japanese 
praying-throne  of  pure  ivory,  and,  above  it, 
a  few  yards  of  improper,  colored  exposure 
by  an  old  master,  equalized  each  other. 

"  And  what  is  all  this  affair  about  the 
dinner?"  suddenly  asked  a  tartly-pitched 
female  voice  with  a  foreign  accent. 

Mr.  Leyton  turned  quickly,  and  was  just 
conscious  of  a  faint  shriek,  the  rustle  of  a 
skirt,  and  the  swift  vanishing  of  a  woman's 
figure  from  the  doorway.  Mr.  Leyton  turned 
red.  Rushbrook  lived  en  garqon,  with  fem- 
inine possibilities ;  Leyton  was  a  married 
man  and  a  deacon.  The  incident  which,  to 
a  man  of  the  world,  would  have  brought 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    259 

only  a  smile,  fired  the  inexperienced  Leyton 
with  those  exaggerated  ideas  and  intense 
credulity  regarding  vice  common  to  some 
very  good  men.  He  walked  on  tip-toe  to 
the  door,  and  peered  into  the  passage.  At 
that  moment  Kushbrook  entered  from  the 
opposite  door  of  the  room. 

"  "Well,"  said  Eushbrook,  with  his  usual 
practical  directness,  "  what  do  you  think  of 
her?" 

Leyton,  still  flushed,  and  with  eyebrows 
slightly  knit,  said,  awkwardly,  that  he  had 
scarcely  seen  her. 

"  She  cost  me  already  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  I  suppose  I  '11  have  to  eventually 
fix  up  a  separate  room  for  her  somewhere," 
continued  Rushbrook. 

"  I  should  certainly  advise  it,"  said  Ley- 
ton,  quickly,  "  for  really,  Rushbrook,  you 
know  that  something  is  due  to  the  respect- 
able people  who  come  here,  and  any  of  them 
are  likely  to  see  "  — 

"  Ah !  "  interrupted  Rushbrook,  seriously, 
"  you  think  she  has  n't  got  on  clothes  enough. 
Why,  look  here,  old  man  —  she  's  one  of  the 
Virtues,  and  that  's  the  rig  in  which  they 
always  travel.  She  Js  a  4  Temperance '  or  a 
1  Charity '  or  a  '  Resignation,'  or  something 


260    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

of  that  kind.  You  '11  find  her  name  there 
in  French  somewhere  at  the  foot  of  the 
marble." 

Leyton  saw  his  mistake,  but  felt  —  as 
others  sometimes  felt  —  a  doubt  whether  this 
smileless  man  was  not  inwardly  laughing  at 
him.  He  replied,  with  a  keen,  rapid  glance 
at  his  host :  — 

"I  was  referring  to  some  woman  who 
stood  in  that  doorway  just  now,  and  ad- 
dressed me  rather  familiarly,  thinking  it  was 
you." 

"  Oh,  the  Signora,"  said  Rushbrook,  with 
undisturbed  directness ;  "  well,  you  saw  her 
at  Los  Osos  last  summer.  Likely  she  did 
think  you  were  me." 

The  cool  ignoring  of  any  ulterior  thought 
in  Leyton's  objection  forced  the  guest  to  be 
equally  practical  in  his  reply. 

"  Yes,  but  the  fact  is  that  Miss  Nevil  had 
talked  of  coming  here  with  me  this  evening 
to  see  you  on  her  own  affairs,  and  it  would  n't 
have  been  exactly  the  thing  for  her  to  meet 
that  woman." 

"  She  would  n't,"  said  Rushbrook,  prompt- 
ly ;  "  nor  would  you,  if  you  had  gone  into 
the  parlor  as  Miss  Nevil  would  have  done. 
But  look  here!  If  that's  the  reason  why 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    261 

you  did  n't  bring  her,  send  for  her  at  once ; 
my  coachman  can  take  a  card  from  you; 
the  brougham  's  all  ready  to  fetch  her,  and 
there  you  are.  She  '11  see  only  you  and 
me."  He  was  already  moving  towards  the 
bell,  when  Ley  ton  stopped  him. 

"  No  matter  now.  I  can  tell  you  her  busi- 
ness, I  fancy ;  and  in  fact,  I  came  here  to 
speak  of  it,  quite  independently  of  her." 

"That  won't  do,  Leyton,"  interrupted 
Rushbrook,  with  crisp  decision.  "  One  or 
the  other  interview  is  unnecessary ;  it  wastes 
time,  and  is  n't  business.  Better  have  her 
present,  even  if  she  don'i  say  a  word." 

"  Yes,  but  not  in  this  matter,"  responded 
Leyton ;  "  it  's  about  Somers.  You  know 
he  's  been  very  attentive  to  her  ever  since 
her  uncle  left  her  here  to  recruit  her  health, 
and  I  think  she  fancies  him.  Well,  although 
she  's  independent  and  her  own  mistress,  as 
you  know,  Mrs.  Leyton  and  I  are  somewhat 
responsible  for  her  acquaintance  with  Som- 
ers, —  and  for  that  matter  so  are  you  ;  and 
as  my  wife  thinks  it  means  a  marriage,  we 
ought  to  know  something  more  positive 
about  Somers's  prospects.  Now,  all  we 
really  know  is  that  he  's  a  great  friend  of 
yours ;  that  you  trust  a  good  deal  to  him ; 


262    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

that  he  manages  your  social  affairs;  that 
you  treat  him  as  a  son  or  nephew,  and  it 's 
generally  believed  that  he  's  as  good  as  pro- 
vided for  by  you  —  eh  ?  Did  you  speak  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Rushbrook,  quietly  regarding 
the  statue  as  if  taking  its  measurement  for 
a  suitable  apartment  for  it.  "  Go  on." 

"  Well,"  said  Leyton,  a  little  impatiently, 
"  that 's  the  belief  everybody  has,  and  you  've 
not  contradicted  it.  And  on  that  we  Ve 
taken  the  responsibility  of  not  interfering 
with  Somers's  attentions." 

"  Well? "  said  Rushbrook,  interrogatively. 

"  Well,"  replied  Leyton,  emphatically, 
"  you  see  I  must  ask  you  positively  if  you 
have  done  anything,  or  are  you  going  to  do 
anything  for  him  ?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  Eushbrook,  with  exas- 
perating coolness,  "  what  do  you  call  this 
marriage?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Leyton. 

"Look  here,  Leyton,"  said  Rushbrook, 
suddenly  and  abruptly  facing  him;  "Jack 
Somers  has  brains,  knowledge  of  society, 
tact,  accomplishments,  and  good  looks: 
that  's  his  capital  as  much  as  mine  is 
money.  I  employ  him :  that  's  his  adver- 
tisement, recommendation,  and  credit.  Now, 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    263 

on  the  strength  of  this,  as  you  say,  Miss 
Nevil  is  willing  to  invest  in  him  ;  I  don't  see 
what  more  can  be  done." 

"  But  if  her  uncle  don't  think  it  enough  ?  " 

*'  She  's  independent,  and  has  money  for 
both." 

"  But  if  she  thinks  she  's  been  deceived, 
and  changes  her  mind  ?  " 

"Leyton,  you  don't  know  Miss  Nevil. 
Whatever  that  girl  undertakes  she 's  weighed 
fully,  and  goes  through  with.  If  she  's 
trusted  him  enough  to  marry  him,  money 
won't  stop  her ;  if  she  thinks  she  's  been 
deceived,  you  'II  never  know  it." 

The  enthusiasm  and  conviction  were  so 
unlike  Rushbrook's  usual  cynical  toleration 
of  the  sex  that  Leyton  stared  at  him. 

"  That  's  odd,"  he  returned.  "  That 's 
what  she  says  of  you." 

"  Of  me  ;  you  mean  Somers  ?  " 

"No,  of  you.  Come,  Rushbrook,  don't 
pretend  you  don't  know  that  Miss  Nevil  is  a 
great  partisan  of  yours,  swears  by  you,  says 
you  're  misunderstood  by  people,  and,  what 's 
infernally  odd  in  a  woman  who  don't  belong 
to  the  class  you  fancy,  don't  talk  of  your 
habits.  That  's  why  she  wants  to  consult 
you  about  Somers,  I  suppose,  and  that's 


264    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

why,  knowing  you  might  influence  her,  I 
came  here  first  to  warn  you." 

"  And  I  Ve  told  you  that  whatever  I  might 
say  or  do  would  n't  influence  her.  So  we  '11 
drop  the  subject." 

"  Not  yet ;  for  you  're  bound  to  see  Miss 
Nevil  sooner  or  later.  Now,  if  she  knows 
that  you  've  done  nothing  for  this  man.  your 
friend  and  her  lover,  won't  she  be  justified 
in  thinking  that  you  would  have  a  reason 
for  it?" 

"  Yes.     I  should  give  it." 

"  What  reason  ?  " 

"  That  I  knew  she  'd  be  more  contented 
to  have  him  speculate  with  her  money  than 
mine." 

"  Then  you  think  that  he  is  n't  a  business 
man?" 

"I  think  that  she  thinks  so,  or  she 
would  n't  marry  him ;  it  's  part  of  the  at- 
traction. But  come,  James  has  been  for  five 
minutes  discreetly  waiting  outside  the  door 
to  tell  us  dinner  is  ready,  and  the  coast  clear 
of  all  other  company.  But  look  here,"  he 
said,  suddenly  stopping,  with  his  arm  in 
Leyton's,  "  you  're  through  your  talk,  I  sup- 
pose ;  perhaps  you  'd  rather  we  'd  dine  with 
the  Signora  and  the  others  than  alone?  " 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    265 

For  an  instant  Leyton  thrilled  with  the 
fascination  of  what  he  firmly  believed  was  a 
guilty  temptation.  Rushbrook,  perceiving 
his  hesitation,  added  :  — 

"  By  the  way,  Somers  is  of  the  party,  and 
one  or  two  others  you  know." 

Mr.  Leyton  opened  his  eyes  widely  at  this ; 
either  the  temptation  had  passed,  or  the  idea 
of  being  seen  in  doubtful  company  by  a 
younger  man  was  distasteful,  for  he  hur- 
riedly disclaimed  any  preference.  "  But," 
he  added  with  half-significant  politeness, 
"  perhaps  I  'm  keeping  you  from  them  ?  " 

"  It  makes  not  the  slightest  difference  to 
me,"  calmly  returned  Rushbrook,  with  such 
evident  truthfulness  that  Leyton  was  both 
convinced  and  chagrined. 

Preceded  by  the  grave  and  ubiquitous 
James,  they  crossed  the  large  hall,  and  en- 
tered through  a  smaller  passage  a  charming 
apartment  hung  with  blue  damask,  which 
might  have  been  a  boudoir,  study,  or  small 
reception-room,  yet  had  the  air  of  never  hav- 
ing been  anything  continuously.  It  would 
seem  that  Rushbrook's  habit  of  "camping 
out  "  in  different  parts  of  his  mansion  ob- 
tained here  as  at  Los  Osos,  and  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  small  closet  which  contained 


266    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

his  Spartan  bed,  the  rooms  were  used  sepa- 
rately or  in  suites,  as  occasion  or  his  friends 
required.  It  is  recorded  that  an  Eastern 
guest,  newly  arrived  with  letters  to  Rush- 
brook,  after  a  tedious  journey,  expressed 
himself  pleased  with  this  same  blue  room, 
in  which  he  had  sumptuously  dined  with  his 
host,  and  subsequently  fell  asleep  in  his 
chair.  Without  disturbing  his  guest,  Rush- 
brook  had  the  table  removed,  a  bed,  wash- 
stand,  and  bureau  brought  in,  the  sleeping 
man  delicately  laid  upon  the  former,  and 
left  to  awaken  to  an  Arabian  night's  real- 
ization of  his  wish. 


CHAPTER  V. 

JAMES  had  barely  disposed  of  his  master 
and  Mr.  Leyton,  and  left  them  to  the  minis- 
trations of  two  of  his  underlings,  before  he 
was  confronted  with  one  of  those  difficult 
problems  that  it  was  part  of  his  functions  to 
solve.  The  porter  informed  him  that  a 
young  lady  had  just  driven  up  in  a  carriage 
ostensibly  to  see  Mr.  Rushbrook,  and  James, 
descending  to  the  outer  vestibule,  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  Miss  Grace  Nevil. 
Happily,  that  young  lady,  with  her  usual 
tact,  spared  him  some  embarrassment. 

"  Oh !  James,"  she  said  sweetly,  "  do  you 
think  that  I  could  see  Mr.  Rushbrook  for  a 
few  moments  if  I  waited  for  the  oppor- 
tunity ?  You  understand,  I  don't  wish  to 
disturb  him  or  his  company  by  being  regu- 
larly announced." 

The  young  girl's  practical  intelligence  ap- 
peared to  increase  the  usual  respect  which 
James  had  always  shown  her.  "  I  under- 
stand, miss."  He  thought  for  a  moment, 


268    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

and  said :  "  Would  you  mind,  then,  follow- 
ing me  where  you  could  wait  quietly  and 
alone  ?  "  As  she  quickly  assented,  he  pre- 
ceded her  up  the  staircase,  past  the  study 
and  drawing-room,  which  he  did  not  enter, 
and  stopped  before  a  small  door  at  the  end 
of  the  passage.  Then,  handing  her  a  key 
which  he  took  from  his  pocket,  he  said : 
"  This  is  the  only  room  in  the  house  that  is 
strictly  reserved  for  Mr.  Eushbrook,  and 
even  he  rarely  uses  it.  You  can  wait  here 
without  anybody  knowing  it  until  I  can  com- 
municate with  him  and  bring  you  to  his 
study  unobserved.  And,"  he  hesitated,  "  if 
you  wouldn't  mind  locking  the  door  when 
you  are  in,  miss,  you  would  be  more  secure, 
and  I  will  knock  when  I  come  for  you." 

Grace  Nevil  smiled  at  the  man's  prudence, 
and  entered  the  room.  But  to  her  great 
surprise,  she  had  scarcely  shut  the  door  when 
she  was  instantly  struck  with  a  singular 
memory  which  the  apartment  recalled.  It 
was  exactly  like  the  room  she  had  altered  in 
Rushbrook's  villa  at  Los  Osos  !  More  than 
that,  on  close  examination  it  proved  to  be 
the  very  same  furniture,  arranged  as  she 
remembered  to  have  arranged  it,  even  to  the 
flowers  and  grasses,  now,  alas !  faded  and 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    269 

withered  on  the  walls.  There  could  be  no 
mistake.  There  was  the  open  ebony  escri- 
toire with  the  satin  blotter  open,  and  its 
leaves  still  bearing  the  marks  of  her  own 
handwriting.  So  complete  to  her  mind  was 
the  idea  of  her  own  tenancy  in  this  bache- 
lor's mansion,  that  she  looked  around  with 
a  half  indignant  alarm  for  the  photograph 
or  portrait  of  herself  that  might  further  in- 
dicate it.  But  there  was  no  other  exposition. 
The  only  thing  that  had  been  added  was  a 
gilt  legend  on  the  satin  case  of  the  blotter, 
-  "  Los  Osos,  August  20,  186-,"  the  day 
she  had  occupied  the  room. 

She  was  pleased,  astonished,  but  more 
than  all,  disturbed.  The  only  man  who 
might  claim  a  right  to  this  figurative  pos- 
session of  her  tastes  and  habits  was  the  one 
whom  she  had  quietly,  reflectively,  and  un- 
derstandingly  half  accepted  as  her  lover,  and 
on  whose  account  she  had  come  to  consult 
Rushbrook.  But  Somers  was  not  a  senti- 
mentalist ;  in  fact,  as  a  young  girl,  forced 
by  her  independent  position  to  somewhat 
critically  scrutinize  masculine  weaknesses, 
this  had  always  been  a  point  in  his  favor ; 
yet  even  if  he  had  joined  with  his  friend 
Rushbrook  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of 


270    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

their  first  acquaintanceship,  his  taste  merely 
would  not  have  selected  a  chambre  de  gar- 
yon  in  Mr.  Rushbrook's  home  for  its  exhibi- 
tion. Her  conception  of  the  opposite  char- 
acters of  the  two  men  was  singularly  distinct 
and  real,  and  this  momentary  confusion  of 
them  was  disagreeable  to  her  woman's  sense. 
But  at  this  moment  James  came  to  release 
her  and  conduct  her  to  Rushbrook's  study, 
where  he  would  join  her  at  once.  Every- 
thing had  been  arranged  as  she  had  wished. 

Even  a  more  practical  man  than  Rush- 
brook  might  have  lingered  over  the  picture 
of  the  tall,  graceful  figure  of  Miss  Nevil, 
quietly  enthroned  in  a  large  armchair  by 
the  fire,  her  scarlet,  satin-lined  cloak  thrown 
over  its  back,  and  her  chin  resting  on  her 
hand.  But  the  millionaire  walked  directly 
towards  her  with  his  usual  frankness  of  con- 
scious but  restrained  power,  and  she  felt,  as 
she  always  did,  perfectly  at  her  ease  in  his 
presence.  Even  as  she  took  his  outstretched 
hand,  its  straightforward  grasp  seemed  to 
endow  her  with  its  own  confidence. 

"  You  '11  excuse  my  coming  here  so  ab- 
ruptly," she  smiled,  "  but  I  wanted  to  get 
before  Mr.  Leyton,  who,  I  believe,  wishes  to 
see  you  on  the  same  business  as  myself." 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    271 

"  He  is  here  already,  and  dining  with  me," 
said  Kushbrook. 

"Ah!  does  he  know  I  am  here?"  asked 
the  girl,  quietly. 

"  No ;  as  he  said  you  had  thought  of  com- 
ing with  him  and  didn't,  I  presumed  you 
did  n't  care  to  have  him  know  you  had  come 
alone." 

"  Not  exactly  that,  Mr.  Rushbrook,"  she 
said,  fixing  her  beautiful  eyes  on  him  in 
bright  and  trustful  confidence,  "  but  I  hap- 
pen to  have  a  fuller  knowledge  of  this  busi- 
ness than  he  has,  and  yet,  as  it  is  not  alto- 
gether my  own  secret,  I  was  not  permitted 
to  divulge  it  to  him.  Nor  would  I  tell  it  to 
you,  only  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should 
think  that  I  had  anything  to  do  with  this 
wretched  inquisition  into  Mr.  Somers's  pros- 
pects. Knowing  as  well  as  you  do  how  per- 
fectly independent  I  am,  you  would  think 
it  strange,  would  n't  you  ?  But  you  would 
think  it  still  more  surprising  when  you  found 
out  that  I  and  my  uncle  already  know  how 
liberally  and  generously  you  had  provided 
for  Mr.  Somers  in  the  future." 

"  How  I  had  provided  for  Mr.  Somers  in 
the  future  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Rtfshbrook,  look- 
ing at  the  fire,  "eh?" 


272    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  girl,  indifferently, 
"  how  you  were  to  put  him  in  to  succeed  you 
in  the  Water  Front  Trust,  and  all  that.  He 
told  it  to  me  and  my  uncle  at  the  outset  of 
our  acquaintance,  confidentially,  of  course, 
and  I  dare  say  with  an  honorable  delicacy 
that  was  like  him,  but  —  I  suppose  now  you 
will  think  me  foolish  —  all  the  while  I  'd 
rather  he  had  not." 

"  You  'd  rather  he  had  not,"  repeated  Mr. 
Rushbrook,  slowly. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Grace,  leaning  forward 
with  her  rounded  elbows  on  her  knees,  and 
her  slim,  arched  feet  on  the  fender.  "  Now 
you  are  going  to  laugh  at  me,  Mr.  Rush- 
brook,  but  all  this  seemed  to  me  to  spoil  any 
spontaneous  feeling  I  might  have  towards 
him,  and  limit  my  independence  in  a  thing 
that  should  be  a  matter  of  free  will  alone. 
It  seemed  too  much  like  a  business  proposi- 
tion !  There,  my  kind  friend !  "  she  added, 
looking  up  and  trying  to  read  his  face  with 
a  half  girlish  pout,  followed,  however,  by  a 
maturer  sigh,  "  I  ?m  bothering  you  with  a 
woman's  foolishness  instead  of  talking  busi- 
ness. And "  —  another  sigh  —  "I  suppose 
it  is  business  for  my  uncle,  who  has,  it 
seems,  bought  into  this  Trust  on  these  possi- 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    273 

ble  contingencies,  has,  perhaps,  been  asking 
questions  of  Mr.  Leyton.  But  I  don't  want 
you  to  think  that  I  approve  of  them,  or 
advise  your  answering  them.  But  you  are 
not  listening." 

"  I  had  forgotten  something,"  said  Rush- 
brook,  with  an  odd  preoccupation.  "  Excuse 
me  a  moment  —  I  will  return  at  once." 

He  left  the  room  quite  as  abstractedly, 
and  when  he  reached  the  passage,  he  appar- 
ently could  not  remember  what  he  had  for- 
gotten, as  he  walked  deliberately  to  the  end 
window,  where,  with  his  arms  folded  behind 
his  back,  he  remained  looking  out  into  the 
street.  A  passer-by,  glancing  up,  might 
have  said  he  had  seen  the  pale,  stern  ghost 
of  Mr.  Rushbrook,  framed  like  a  stony  por- 
trait in  the  window.  But  he  presently 
turned  away,  and  reentered  the  room,  going 
up  to  Grace,  who  was  still  sitting  by  the  fire, 
in  his  usual  strong  and  direct  fashion. 

"  Well !  Now  let  me  see  what  you  want. 
I  think  this  would  do." 

He  took  a  seat  at  his  open  desk,  and  rap- 
idly wrote  a  few  lines. 

"  There,"  he  continued,  "  when  you  write 
to  your  uncle,  inclose  that." 

Grace  took  it,  and  read  :  — 


274    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

DEAK  Miss  NEVIL,  —  Pray  assure  your 
uncle  from  me  that  I  am  quite  ready  to  guar- 
antee, in  any  form  that  he  may  require,  the 
undertaking  represented  to  him  by  Mr.  John 
Somers.  Yours  very  truly, 

EGBERT  RUSHBROOK. 

A  quick  flush  mounted  to  the  young  girl's 
cheeks.  "  But  this  is  a  security,  Mr.  Rush- 
brook,"  she  said  proudly,  handing  him  back 
the  paper,  "  and  my  uncle  does  not  require 
that.  Nor  shall  I  insult  him  or  you  by  send- 
ing it." 

"  It  is  business,  Miss  Nevil,"  said  Rush- 
brook,  gravely.  He  stopped,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  her  animated  face  and  sparkling 
eyes.  "  You  can  send  it  to  him  or  not,  as 
you  like.  But "  —  a  rare  smile  came  to  his 
handsome  mouth  —  "  as  this  is  a  letter  to 
you,  you  must  not  insult  me  by  not  accept- 
ing it." 

Replying  to  his  smile  rather  than  the 
words  that  accompanied  it,  Miss  Nevil 
smiled,  too.  Nevertheless,  she  was  uneasy 
and  disturbed.  The  interview,  whatever  she 
might  have  vaguely  expected  from  it,  had 
resolved  itself  simply  into  a  business  in- 
dorsement of  her  lover,  which  she  had  not 


A  M&CENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    275 

sought,  and  which  gave  her  no  satisfaction. 
Yet  there  was  the  same  potent  and  indefin- 
ably protecting  presence  before  her  which 
she  had  sought,  but  whose  omniscience  and 
whose  help  she  seemed  to  have  lost  the  spell 
and  courage  to  put  to  the  test.  He  relieved 
her  in  his  abrupt  but  not  unkindly  fashion. 
"Well,  when  is  it  to  be?" 

"It?" 

"  Your  marriage." 

"  Oh,  not  for  some  time.  There  's  no 
hurry." 

It  might  have  struck  the  practical  Mr. 
Rushbrook  that,  even  considered  as  a  desir- 
able business  affair,  the  prospective  comple- 
tion of  this  contract  provoked  neither  frank 
satisfaction  nor  conventional  dissimulation  on 
the  part  of  the  young  lady,  for  he  regarded  her 
calm  but  slightly  wearied  expression  fixedly. 
But  he  only  said :  "  Then  I  shall  say  noth- 
ing of  this  interview  to  Mr.  Leyton  ?  " 

"  As  you  please.  It  really  matters  little. 
Indeed,  I  suppose  I  was  rather  foolish  in 
coming  at  all,  and  wasting  your  valuable 
time  for  nothing." 

She  had  risen,  as  if  taking  his  last  ques- 
tion in  the  significance  of  a  parting  sugges- 
tion, and  was  straightening  her  tall  figure, 


276    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

preparatory  to  putting  on  her  cloak.  As  she 
reached  it,  he  stepped  forward,  and  lifted  it 
from  the  chair  to  assist  her.  The  act  was 
so  unprecedented,  as  Mr.  Rushbrook  never 
indulged  in  those  minor  masculine  courtesies, 
that  she  was  momentarily  as  confused  as  a 
younger  girl  at  the  gallantry  of  a  younger 
man.  In  their  previous  friendship  he  had 
seldom  drawn  near  her  except  to  shake  her 
hand  —  a  circumstance  that  had  always  re- 
curred to  her  when  his  free  and  familiar  life 
had  been  the  subject  of  gossip.  But  she 
now  had  a  more  frightened  consciousness 
that  her  nerves  were  strangely  responding 
to  his  powerful  propinquity,  and  she  invol- 
untarily contracted  her  pretty  shoulders  as  he 
gently  laid  the  cloak  upon  them.  Yet  even 
when  the  act  was  completed,  she  had  a  super- 
stitious instinct  that  the  significance  of  this 
rare  courtesy  was  that  it -was  final,  and  that 
he  had  helped  her  to  interpose  something 
that  shut  him  out  from  her  forever. 

She  was  turning  away  with  a  heightened 
color,  when  the  sound  of  light,  hurried  foot- 
steps, and  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  dress  was 
heard  in  the  hall.  A  swift  recollection  of 
her  companion's  infelicitous  reputation  now 
returned  to  her,  and  Grace  Nevil,  with  a 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    277 

slight  stiffening  of  her  whole  frame,  became 
coldly  herself  again.  Mr.  Rushbrook  be- 
trayed neither  surprise  nor  agitation.  Beg- 
ging her  to  wait  a  moment  until  he  could 
arrange  for  her  to  pass  to  her  carriage  un- 
noticed, he  left  the  room. 

Yet  it  seemed  that  the  cause  of  the  dis- 
turbance was  unsuspected  by  Mr.  Rush- 
brook.  Mr.  Leyton,  although  left  to  the 
consolation  of  cigars  and  liquors  in  the 
blue  room,  had  become  slightly  weary  of  his 
companion's  prolonged  absence.  Satisfied 
in  his  mind  that  Rushbrook  had  joined  the 
gayer  party,  and  that  he  was  even  now  pay- 
ing gallant  court  to  the  Signora,  he  became 
again  curious  and  uneasy.  At  last  the  un- 
mistakable sound  of  whispering  voices  in 
the  passage  got  the  better  of  his  sense  of 
courtesy  as  a  guest,  and  he  rose  from  his 
seat,  and  slightly  opened  the  door.  As  he 
did  so  the  figures  of  a  man  and  woman,  con- 
versing in  earnest  whispers,  passed  the  open- 
ing. The  man's  arm  was  round  the  woman's 
waist ;  the  woman  was —  as  he  had  suspected 
—  the  one  who  had  stood  in  the  doorway, 
the  Signora  —  but  —  the  man  was  not  Rush- 
brook.  Mr.  Leyton  drew  back  this  time  in 
unaffected  horror.  It  was  none  other  than 
Jack  Somers ! 


278    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

Some  warning  instinct  must  at  that  mo- 
ment have  struck  the  woman,  for  with  a 
stifled  cry  she  disengaged  herself  from 
Somers's  arm,  and  dashed  rapidly  down 
the  hall.  Somers,  evidently  unaware  of  the 
cause,  stood  irresolute  for  a  moment,  and 
then  more  silently  but  swiftly  disappeared 
into  a  side  corridor  as  if  to  intercept  her.  It 
was  the  rapid  passage  of  the  Signora  that 
had  attracted  the  attention  of  Grace  and 
Rushbrook  in  the  study,  and  it  was  the  mo- 
ment after  it  that  Mr.  Rushbrook  left. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

VAGUELY  uneasy,  and  still  perplexed  with 
her  previous  agitation,  as  Mr.  Rushbrook 
closed  the  door  behind  him,  Grace,  follow- 
ing some  feminine  instinct  rather  than  any 
definite  reason,  walked  to  the  door  and 
placed  her  hand  upon  the  lock  to  prevent 
any  intrusion  until  he  returned.  Her  cau- 
tion seemed  to  be  justified  a  moment  later, 
for  a  heavier  but  stealthier  footstep  halted 
outside.  The  handle  of  the  door  was  turned, 
but  she  resisted  it  with  the  fullest  strength 
of  her  small  hand  until  a  voice,  which 
startled  her,  called  in  a  hurried  whisper :  — 

"  Open  quick,  't  is  I." 

She  stepped  back  quickly,  flung  the  door 
open,  and  beheld  Somers  on  the  threshold  ! 

The  astonishment,  agitation,  and  above  all, 
the  awkward  confusion  of  this  usually  self- 
possessed  and  ready  man,  was  so  unlike  him, 
and  withal  so  painful,  that  Grace  hurried  to 
put  an  end  to  it,  and  for  an  instant  forgot 
her  own  surprise  at  seeing  him.  She  smiled 
assuringly,  and  extended  her  hand. 


280    A  MAC  EN  AS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

"  Grace  —  Miss  Nevil  —  I  beg  your  par- 
don —  I  did  n't  imagine  "  —  he  began  with 
a  forced  laugh.  "  I  mean,  of  course  —  I 
cannot  —  but "  — .  He  stopped,  and  then 
assuming  a  peculiar  expression,  said:  "But 
what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

At  any  other  moment  the  girl  would  have 
resented  the  tone,  which  was  as  new  to  her 
as  his  previous  agitation,  but  in  her  present 
self-consciousness  her  situation  seemed  to  re- 
quire some  explanation.  "  I  came  here,"  she 
said,  "  to  see  Mr.  Rushbrook  on  business. 
Your  business  —  our  business,"  she  added, 
with  a  charming  smile,  using  for  the  first 
time  the  pronoun  that  seemed  to  indicate 
their  unity  and  interest,  and  yet  fully  aware 
of  a  vague  insincerity  in  doing  so. 

"  Our  business  ?  "  he  repeated,  ignoring 
her  gentler  meaning  with  a  changed  empha- 
sis and  a  look  of  suspicion. 

"Yes,"  said  Grace,  a  little  impatiently. 
"  Mr.  Leyton  thought  he  ought  to  write  to 
my  uncle  something  positive  as  to  your  pros- 
pects with  Mr.  Rushbrook,  and  "  - 

"You  came  here  to  inquire?"  said  the 
young  man,  sharply. 

"  I  came  here  to  stop  any  inquiry,"  said 
Grace,  indignantly.  "I  came  here  to  say  I 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    281 

was  satisfied  with  what  you  had  confided  to 
me  of  Mr.  Rushbrook's  generosity,  and  that 
was  enough  !  " 

"  With  what  I  had  confided  to  you  ?  You 
dared  say  that  ?  " 

Grace  stopped,  and  instantly  faced  him. 
But  any  indignation  she  might  have  felt  at 
his  speech  and  manner  was  swallowed  up  in 
the  revulsion  and  horror  that  overtook  her 
with  the  sudden  revelation  she  saw  in  his 
white  and  frightened  face.  Leyton's  strange 
inquiry,  Rushbrook's  cold  composure  and 
scornful  acceptance  of  her  own  credulous- 
ness,  came  to  her  in  a  flash  of  shameful  intel- 
ligence. Somers  had  lied  !  The  insufferable 
meanness  of  it !  A  lie,  whose  very  useless- 
ness  and  ignobility  had  defeated  its  purpose 
—  a  lie  that  implied  the  basest  suspicion  of 
her  own  independence  and  truthfulness  — 
such  a  lie  now  stood  out  as  plainly  before  her 
as  his  guilty  face. 

"  Forgive  my  speaking  so  rudely,"  he  said 
with  a  forced  smile  and  attempt  to  recover 
his  self-control,  "  but  you  have  ruined  me 
unless  you  deny  that  I  told  you  anything. 
It  was  a  joke  —  an  extravagance  that  I  had 
forgotten ;  at  least,  it  was  a  confidence  be- 
tween you  and  me  that  you  have  foolishly 


282    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

violated.  Say  that  you  misunderstood  me  — 
that  it  was  a  fancy  of  your  own.  Say  any- 
thing —  he  trusts  you  —  he  '11  believe  any- 
thing you  say." 

"  He  has  believed  me,"  said  Grace,  almost 
fiercely,  turning  upon  him  with  the  paper 
that  Rushbrook  had  given  her  in  her  out- 
stretched hand.  "  Read  that !  " 

He  read  it.  Had  he  blushed,  had  he  stam- 
mered, had  he  even  kept  up  his  former  fran- 
tic and  pitiable  attitude,  she  might  at  that 
supreme  moment  have  forgiven  him.  But  to 
her  astonishment  his  face  changed,  his  hand- 
some brow  cleared,  his  careless,  happy  smile 
returned,  his  graceful  confidence  came  back 
—  he  stood  before  her  the  elegant,  courtly, 
and  accomplished  gentleman  she  had  known. 
He  returned  her  the  paper,  and  advancing 
with  extended  hand,  said  triumphantly :  — 

"  Superb  !  Splendid  !  No  one  but  a 
woman  could  think  of  that !  And  only  one 
woman  achieve  it.  You  have  tricked  the 
great  Rushbrook.  You  are  indeed  worthy 
of  being  a  financier's  wife !  " 

"No,"  she  said  passionately,  tearing  up 
the  paper  and  throwing  it  at  his  feet ;  "  not 
as  you  understand  it  —  and  never  yours  ! 
You  have  debased  and  polluted  everything 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    283 

connected  with  it,  as  you  would  have  debased 
and  polluted  me.  Out  of  my  presence  that 
you  are  insulting  —  out  of  the  room  of  the 
man  whose  magnanimity  you  cannot  under- 
stand !  " 

The  destruction  of  the  guarantee  appar- 
ently stung  him  more  than  the  words  that 
accompanied  it.  He  did  not  relapse  again 
into  his  former  shamefaced  terror,  but  as  a 
malignant  glitter  came  into  his  eyes,  he  re- 
gained his  coolness. 

"  It  may  not  be  so  difficult  for  others  to 
understand,  Miss  Nevil,"  he  said,  with  pol- 
ished insolence,  "  and  as  Bob  Rushbrook's 
generosity  to  pretty  women  is  already  a  mat- 
ter of  suspicion,  perhaps  you  are  wise  to  de- 
stroy that  record  of  it." 

"  Coward  !  "  said  Grace,  "  stand  aside  and 
let  me  pass !  "  She  swept  by  him  to  the 
door.  But  it  opened  upon  Rushbrook's  re- 
entrance.  He  stood  for  an  instant  glancing 
at  the  pair,  and  then  on  the  fragments  of 
the  paper  that  strewed  the  floor.  Then, 
still  holding  the  door  in  his  hand,  he  said 
quietly  :  — 

"  One  moment  before  you  go,  Miss  Nevil. 
If  this  is  the  result  of  any  misunderstanding 
as  to  the  presence  of  another  woman  here,  in 


284    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

company  with  Mr.  Somers,  it  is  only  fair  to 
him  to  say  that  that  woman  is  here  as  a 
friend  of  mine,  not  of  his,  and  I  alone  am 
responsible." 

Grace  halted,  and  turned  the  cold  steel  of 
her  proud  eyes  on  the  two  men.  As  they 
rested  on  Kushbrook  they  quivered  slightly. 
"I  can  already  bear  witness,"  she  said  coldly, 
"  to  the  generosity  of  Mr.  Rushbrook  in  a 
matter  which  then  touched  me.  But  there 
certainly  is  no  necessity  for  him  to  show  it 
now  in  a  matter  in  which  I  have  not  the 
slightest  concern." 

As  she  swept  out  of  the  room  and  was 
received  in  the  respectable  shadow  of  the 
waiting  James,  Rushbrook  turned  to  Somers. 

"  And  Pm  afraid  it  won't  do  —  for  Ley- 
ton  saw  you,"  he  said  curtly.  "  Now,  then, 
shut  that  door,  for  you  and  I,  Jack  Somers, 
have  a  word  to  say  to  each  other." 

What  that  word  was,  and  how  it  was  said 
and  received,  is  not  a  part  of  this  record. 
But  it  is  told  that  it  was  the  beginning  of 
that  mighty  Iliad,  still  remembered  of  men, 
which  shook  the  financial  camps  of  San 
Francisco,  and  divided  them  into  bitter  con- 
tending parties.  For  when  it  became  known 
the  next  day  that  Somers  had  suddenly 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    285 

abandoned  Rushbrook,  and  carried  over  to 
a  powerful  foreign  capitalist  the  secret  meth- 
ods, and  even,  it  was  believed,  the  luck  of 
his  late  employer,  it  was  certain  that  there 
would  be  war  to  the  knife,  and  that  it  was 
no  longer  a  struggle  of  rival  enterprise,  but 
of  vindictive  men. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FOR  a  year  the  battle  between  the  Somers 
faction  and  the  giant  but  solitary  Eushbrook 
raged  fiercely,  with  varying  success.  I  grieve 
to  say  that  the  proteges  and  parasites  of 
Maecenas  deserted  him  in  a  body ;  nay,  they 
openly  alleged  that  it  was  the  true  artistic 
nature  and  refinement  of  Somers  that  had 
always  attracted  them,  and  that  a  man  like 
Rushbrook,  who  bought  pictures  by  the  yard, 
—  equally  of  the  unknown  struggling  artist 
and  the  famous  masters,  —  was  no  true  pa- 
tron of  Art.  Rushbrook  made  no  attempt 
to  recover  his  lost  prestige,  and  once,  when 
squeezed  into  a  tight  "  corner,"  and  forced 
to  realize  on  his  treasures,  he  put  them  up  at 
auction  and  the  people  called  them  "  daubs ; " 
their  rage  knew  no  bounds.  It  was  then 
that  an  unfettered  press  discovered  that 
Rushbrook  never  was  a  Maecenas  at  all, 
grimly  deprecated  his  assumption  of  that 
title,  and  even  doubted  if  he  were  truly  a 
millionaire.  It  was  at  this  time  that  a  few 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    287 

stood  by  him  —  notably,  the  mill  inventor 
from  Siskyou,  grown  plethoric  with  success, 
but  eventually  ground  between  the  upper 
and  nether  millstone  of  the  Somers  and 
Rushbrook  party.  Miss  Nevil  had  returned 
to  the  Atlantic  States  with  Mrs.  Ley  ton. 
While  rumors  had  played  freely  with  the 
relations  of  Somers  and  the  Signora  as  the 
possible  cause  of  the  rupture  between  him 
and  Rushbrook,  no  mention  had  ever  been 
made  of  the  name  of  Miss  Nevil. 

It  was  raining  heavily  one  afternoon,  when 
Mr.  Rushbrook  drove  from  his  office  to  his 
San  Francisco  house.  The  fierce  struggle 
in  which  he  was  engaged  left  him  little  time 
for  hospitality,  and  for  the  last  two  weeks  his 
house  had  been  comparatively  deserted.  He 
passed  through  the  empty  rooms,  changed  in 
little  except  the  absence  of  some  valuable 
monstrosities  which  had  gone  to  replenish 
his  capital.  When  he  reached  his  bedroom, 
he  paused  a  moment  at  the  open  door. 

"  James !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  James,  appearing  out  of 
the  shadow. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  wanting  some- 
thing, sir.'* 


288    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

"  You  were  waiting  there  this  morning ; 
you  were  in  the  ante-room  of  my  study  while 
I  was  writing.  You  were  outside  the  blue 
room  while  I  sat  at  breakfast.  You  were  at 
my  elbow  in  the  drawing-room  late  last  night. 
Now,  James,"  continued  Mr.  Rushbrook, 
with  his  usual  grave  directness,  "  I  don't  in- 
tend to  commit  suicide  ;  I  can't  afford  it,  so 
keep  your  time  and  your  rest  for  yourself  — 
you  want  it  —  that 's  a  good  fellow." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  James !  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Rushbrook  extended  his  hand.  There 
was  that  faint,  rare  smile  on  his  handsome 
mouth,  for  which  James  would  at  any  time 
have  laid  down  his  life.  But  he  only  silently 
grasped  his  master's  hand,  and  the  two  men 
remained  looking  into  each  other's  eyes  with- 
out a  word.  Then  Mr.  Rushbrook  entered 
his  room,  lay  down,  and  went  to  sleep,  and 
James  vanished  in  the  shadow. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Mr.  Rushbrook 
awoke  refreshed,  and  even  James,  who  came 
to  call  him,  appeared  to  have  brightened  in 
the  interval.  "  I  have  ordered  a  fire,  sir,  in 
the  reserved  room,  the  one  fitted  up  from 
Los  Osos,  as  your  study  has  had  no  chance 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    289 

of  being  cleaned  these  two  weeks.  It  will 
be  a  change  for  you,  sir.  I  hope  you  '11  ex- 
cuse my  not  waking  you  to  consult  you 
about  it." 

Rushbrook  remained  so  silent  that  James, 
fancying  he  had  not  heard  him,  was  about 
to  repeat  himself  when  his  master  said 
quickly,  "Very  well,  come  for  me  there 
when  dinner  is  ready,"  and  entered  the  pas- 
sage leading  to  the  room.  James  did  not 
follow  him,  and  when  Mr.  Rushbrook,  open- 
ing the  door,  started  back  with  an  exclama- 
tion, no  one  but  the  inmate  heard  the  word 
that  rose  to  his  lips. 

For  there,  seated  before  the  glow  of  the 
blazing  fire,  was  Miss  Grace  Nevil.  She 
had  evidently  just  arrived,  for  her  mantle 
was  barely  loosened  around  her  neck,  and 
upon  the  fringe  of  brown  hair  between  her 
bonnet  and  her  broad,  low  forehead  a  few 
drops  of  rain  still  sparkled.  As  she  lifted 
her  long  lashes  quickly  towards  the  door,  it 
seemed  as  if  they,  too,  had  caught  a  little 
of  that  moisture.  Rushbrook  moved  impa- 
tiently forward,  and  then  stopped.  Grace 
rose  unhesitatingly  to  her  feet,  and  met  him 
half-way  with  frankly  outstretched  hands. 
"  First  of  all,"  she  said,  with  a  half  nervous 


290    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

laugh,  "  don't  scold  James ;  it 's  all  my  fault ; 
I  forbade  him  to  announce  me,  lest  you 
should  drive  me  away,  for  I  heard  that  dur- 
ing this  excitement  you  came  here  for  rest, 
and  saw  no  one.  Even  the  intrusion  into 
this  room  is  all  my  own.  I  confess  now  that 
I  saw  it  the  last  night  I  was  here ;  I  was 
anxious  to  know  if  it  was  unchanged,  and 
made  James  bring  me  here.  I  did  not  un- 
derstand it  then.  I  do  now  —  and  —  thank 

you." 

Her  face  must  have  shown  that  she  was 
conscious  that  he  was  still  holding  her  hand, 
for  he  suddenly  released  it.  With  a  height- 
ened color  and  a  half  girlish  naivete,  that 
was  the  more  charming  for  its  contrast  with 
her  tall  figure  and  air  of  thoroughbred  re- 
pose, she  turned  back  to  her  chair,  and 
lightly  motioned  him  to  take  the  one  before 
her.  "  I  am  here  on  business  ;  otherwise  I 
should  not  have  dared  to  look  in  upon  you 
at  all." 

She  stopped,  drew  off  her  gloves  with  a 
provoking  deliberation,  which  was  none  the 
less  fascinating  that  it  implied  a  demure 
consciousness  of  inducing  some  impatience" 
in  the  breast  of  her  companion,  stretched 
them  out  carefully  by  the  fingers,  laid  them 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.    291 

down  neatly  on  the  table,  placed  her  elbows 
on  her  knees,  slightly  clasped  her  hands 
together,  and  bending  forward,  lifted  her 
honest,  handsome  eyes  to  the  man  before 
her. 

"  Mr.  Rushbrook,  I  have  got  between  four 
and  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  that  I 
have  no  use  for;  I  can  control  securities 
which  can  be  converted,  if  necessary,  into  a 
hundred  thousand  more  in  ten  days.  I  am 
free  and  my  own  mistress.  It  is  generally 
considered  that  I  know  what  I  am  about  — 
you  admitted  as  much  when  I  was  your 
pupil.  I  have  come  here  to  place  this  sum 
in  your  hands,  at  your  free  disposal.  You 
know  why  and  for  what  purpose." 

"  But  what  do  you  know  of  my  affairs  ?  " 
asked  Rushbrook,  quickly. 

"  Everything,  and  I  know  you,  which  is 
better.  Call  it  an  investment  if  you  like  — 
for  I  know  you  will  succeed  —  and  let  me 
share  your  profits.  Call  it  —  if  you  please 
—  restitution,  for  I  am  the  miserable  cause 
of  your  rupture  with  that  man.  Or  call  it 
revenge  if  you  like,'*  she  said  with  a  faint 
smile,  "  and  let  me  fight  at  your  side  against 
our  common  enemy !  Please,  Mr.  Rush- 
brook,  don't  deny  me  this.  I  have  come 


292    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

three  thousand  miles  for  it;  I  could  have 
sent  it  to  you  —  or  written  —  but  I  feared 
you  would  not  understand  it.  You  are  smil- 
ing —  you  will  take  it  ?  " 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Rushbrook,  gravely. 

"  Then  you  force  me  to  go  into  the  Stock 
Market  myself,  and  fight  for  you,  and,  un- 
aided by  your  genius,  perhaps  lose  it  with- 
out benefiting  you." 

Rushbrook  did  not  reply. 

"  At  least,  then,  tell  me  why  you  '  can- 
not.' " 

Rushbrook  rose,  and  looking  into  her  face, 
said  quietly  with  his  old  directness  :  — 

"  Because  I  love  you,  Miss  Nevil." 

A  sudden  instinct  to  rise  and  move  away, 
a  greater  one  to  remain  and  hear  him  speak 
again,  and  a  still  greater  one  to  keep  back 
the  blood  that  she  felt  was  returning  all  too 
quickly  to  her  cheek  after  the  first  shock, 
kept  her  silent.  But  she  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  I  loved  you  ever  since  I  first  saw  you  at 
Los  Osos,"  he  went  on  quickly ;  "  I  said  to 
myself  even  then,  that  if  there  was  a  woman 
that  would  fill  my  life,  and  make  me  what 
she  wished  me  to  be,  it  was  you.  I  even 
fancied  that  day  that  you  understood  me 
better  than  any  woman,  or  even  any  man, 


A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE.     293 

that  I  had  ever  met  before.  I  loved  you 
through  all  that  miserable  business  with  that 
man,  even  when  my  failure  to  make  you 
happy  with  another  brought  me  no  nearer  to 
you.  I  have  loved  you  always.  I  shall  love 
you  always.  I  love  you  more  for  this  fool- 
ish kindness  that  brings  you  beneath  my 
roof  once  more,  and  gives  me  a  chance  to 
speak  my  heart  to  you,  if  only  once  and  for 
the  last  time,  than  all  the  fortune  that  you 
could  put  at  my  disposal.  But  I  could  not 
accept  what  you  would  offer  me  from  any 
woman  who  was  not  my  wife  - —  and  I  could 
not  marry  any  woman  that  did  not  love 
me.  I  am  perhaps  past  the  age  when  I 
could  inspire  a  young  girl's  affection ;  but 
I  have  not  reached  the  age  when  I  would  ac- 
cept anything  less."  He  stopped  abruptly. 
Grace  did  not  look  up.  There  was  a  tear 
glistening  upon  her  long  eyelashes,  albeit  a 
faint  smile  played  upon  her  lips. 

"  Do  you  call  this  business,   Mr.   Rush- 
brook  ?  "  she  said  softly. 

"Business?" 

"  To  assume  a  proposal  declined  before  it 
has  been  offered." 

"  Grace  —  my   darling  —  tell   me  —  is  it 
possible?" 


294    A  MAECENAS  OF  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

It  was  too  late  for  her  to  rise  now,  as  his 
hands  held  both  hers,  and  his  handsome 
mouth  was  smiling  level  with  her  own.  So 
it  really  seemed  to  a  dispassionate  spectator 
that  it  was  possible,  and  before  she  had  left 
the  room,  it  even  appeared  to  be  the  most 
probable  thing  in  the  world. 

The  union  of  Grace  Nevil  and  Robert 
Rushbrook  was  recorded  by  local  history  as 
the  crown  to  his  victory  over  the  Ring.  But 
only  he  and  his  wife  knew  that  it  was  the 
cause. 


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of  friction  1  1 


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12  Morfetf  of  JFictton 

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of  Jfictton  13 


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14  Motfetf  of  jFtctton 

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Works  of  jFiction  15 

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1  8  flMoite  of 


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of  JFietton  19 


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20  OTtorfctf  of 


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of  JFiction  21 

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22  Morfes  of  jftction 

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Worfetf  of  JFtctton  23 

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24  Motto  of  JFiction 

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of  JFictton  25 


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of  JFtctfon  27 


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28 


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Morfea  of  fiction  29 

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of  Jftctton  31 


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32  Morfesf  of  JFtcttcn 

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of  jfiction  33 


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34  OTorktf  of  jftetion 

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of  ^Fiction  35 


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